


The Griffin And The Hummingbird

by Eravalefantasy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Cullen is a what??????, Dragon Age elements, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy/pseuds/Eravalefantasy
Summary: In the Clockwork Age of Thedas, a missing king, a ruthless pirate and a dying wish pushes Lisette Cousland into Alistair Calenhad Theirin's path. When Ferelden's Regent tasks him with the Lady's safety, Alistair leaves the Wardens behind and discovers far more than he ever imagined.





	1. And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [childrenofdestiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofdestiny/gifts).



> Deepest thanks to childrenofdestiny. The idea for this fic sprung from her original work. Check out her Dragon Age works here on the archive!

Clockwork Age, Year Five, 10th Kingsway

 

The skies above Denerim remained empty for five years, but a promise-no matter the passage of time- remained a promise. Five years had passed as Thedas continued to move at a frenetic pace; Denerim herself had become the center of Ferelden ingenuity, and she’d needed to expand her boundaries and her definition of limitations.

Through many lifetimes Drakkon Tower had served the military and the monarchy. Epic battles and daring raids left ghosts to wander its halls; each floor held tales of triumphs and failures. The man climbing the stairs cared little for the past, his shoulder length hair flopping in his face as he climbed. He dug a white hair ribbon from his waistcoat and tied his hair back. “There’s a lift for a reason you dolt,” the man scolded himself aloud, but he’d yet to use the contraption since the refit of the tower and had no plans to start.

Stopping on the landing, he pulled the chain on his pocket watch to check the time. “Nearly half five,” he said, staring at the clockwork dragon at the center of his timepiece. Another of Lisette’s gifts, the wings moved in such a peculiar fashion, giving the illusion of a beast in flight with the passage of time. Snapping the cover closed, he paused, his reflection in the polished metal staring back at him.

“Alistair Calenhad Theirin, _you_ are an idiot,” he said, before tackling the steps once more, despite his reluctance. Born in the Industrial Age, Alistair had known nothing other than the dawn of innovation and automation in Thedas. _The end of civilization as we know it_ , Alistair bemoaned.

He hated all of it, longing for a simpler time when elbow grease meant you worked hard until the sun disappeared and even harder by the light of either of Thedas’ moons. Magic had given way to tech, tinkers had replaced mages as the most feared on Thedas’ earth and Alistair couldn’t seem to fall in line. Until he’d met Lisette. _Lizzy_ , he thought. _Maker take me, but I miss you so._

He laughed despite his aggravations; his memory conjured images of her meticulously curled hair bouncing in time with her steps.  Those eyes still held him breathless even in the grainy photographs they’d bought years ago. He’d often wondered if Bryce Cousland had made them, the way their blue-green perfection never failed to twinkle in even the faintest of light. Even when Lisette’s face remained still and void of emotion, her eyes let him see into the deepest part of her.

Once more he chastised his thoughts. “She’s probably found some pirate or worse.” He believed it. There could be no other explanation for her absence. Resuming his climb, Alistair had to prepare for anything when he followed her instructions. As much as he hoped to reconcile and hold Lisette in his arms, Alistair had to entreat all possibilities.

Nearing thirty years old, Alistair had never dared to hope for the happy ending. When Lisette had left, she made him swear to follow in five years’ time. _Time waits for none, Alistair_. Duncan’s words all those years ago aboard the Ostagar surfaced in Alistair’s thoughts.  _Duncan never really knew my Lizzy; he found her, but never knew what she was truly capable of or to what lengths she would go._

_l-l-l_

Ten years prior

“We’re Wardens Alistair, not pirates; put the guns down.” Duncan’s exasperation at the younger man carried him out onto the deck of the Ostagar.

Grey Wardens existed for aged as the fiercest of warriors; they fought to keep Thedas free from a deadly foe from deep underground known as darkspawn. These creatures, hunted to extinction several ages past, remained only in historical accounts and a few grotesque reminders of their once prolific existence.

Alchemists succeeded in synthesizing darkspawn blood; due in part to the discoveries of hatcheries in the deepest tracks below the surface, but the resulting Wardens experienced significant weakened abilities of the once fabled warriors. Wardens had to consume the elixir in quantity when searching for the creatures as their ability to sense darkspawn had diminished in the alchemical process.

The Wardens themselves had changed in significant ways; the bulk of their consisted of society’s cast offs and criminals. Those who earned the right to rehabilitate, were forced to join the ranks. In the past, Wardens lived on borrowed time, a shortened life span their only reward. With the synthesis, the limitation of years no longer existed with the elixir, but leaving the Wardens was an impossibility without a pardon.

Alistair dropped the large guns on the map table and hurried after his mentor. They’d found the weapons cache in Amaranthine, a city east of their destination. Alistair had studied weapons and combat as required in his training, but the Wardens preferred traditional battle tactics, namely swords and shields.   “Duncan, wait! I only meant-”

The Ostagar, a flagship for the Grey Wardens, could fly higher than almost any other airship in the fleet, the altitude took getting used to, but Alistair found the crispness of the air and constant wind to be better than any drink, and stepping out onto the deck to a blast of cold air coaxed a shiver through him. “Duncan!”

The Warden Commander stood near the bow, looking out over the rolling hills leading toward Highever. “Be at ease, my young friend. It falls to us to preserve as much of our histories as we are able.”

“Griffins disappeared many ages ago, dragons too. So lament those losses if you must,” Alistair shrugged, “but airships and dirigibles are all we Wardens have left.”

Duncan sighed. “Wardens never rode dragons. We’re supposed to be fearless, not stupid,” Duncan offered, “pull your head from the clouds and focus.” The older of the two men glanced over his shoulder to see a widening grin on Alistair’s face. “Ah. A jest. Forgive me.”

The inflection in Duncan’s voice carried a melancholy troubling to Alistair. Their mission was to retrieve Lord Bryce Cousland, a tinker of great renown in Ferelden. Duncan, usually of sound emotion and strict discipline carried a strangeness to his person, ever since he’d met with Cailan Theirin, regent for Ferelden- and Alistair’s half-brother.

Staring out into the expanse, Alistair’s jaw tightened despite the wonders laid out before him. A sea of green and wildflowers undulated in the breeze far below them giving the illusion of rolling tides. Sunlight cut through the puffy clouds in wide beams. For a moment Alistair admitted that this was what he craved; simplicity and beauty under the sun and the presence of mind to realize it was more than enough. As quickly as the notion grabbed him, it left; his flash of serenity taken and replaced with thoughts of his half-brother.

“Curse Cailan and his plans. We are not his to command.”

Duncan nodded. “His Grace asked this as a personal favor. Professor Cousland is a friend and with Loghain’s escape, Cailan fears for the Cousland family.”

Loghain Mac Tir. How Alistair despised the man. The son of a simple man, Loghain had befriended the king when they were children. Maric Theirin had believed Loghain a friend and brother, closer than any other, but after Cailan’s birth Loghain changed. He’d sold all the holdings Maric had given him and took to the skies under the lie of exploration. Loghain wasn’t an explorer. He was one of the Freeman, a pirate and scoundrel seeking to build a faction greater than his oldest friend could imagine.

The two reconciled, but many suspected it to be a ruse. Despite warnings from friends and advisors, Maric requested Loghain escort him to the north. What happened on that voyage remained a mystery; Maric had disappeared under less than ideal circumstances. _Less than ideal_ , Alistair thought. Loghain had promised to take King Maric across the Waking Sea, but Maric never arrived at his destination and the airship carrying the missing king had disappeared. Loghain claimed no knowledge of the monarch’s whereabouts; the marked and sudden absence of Mac Tir suggested a far more dubious end.

“Then you believe Loghain has returned.” Alistair did not ask, he stated his belief. There could be no other reason for Duncan to bring Alistair and only a small crew on the Ostagar. It had to be without the Grey Warden’s consent-a personal favor to Cailan as Duncan had claimed.

Duncan did not answer Alistair, his focus narrowed toward the horizon. “Alistair, look to the horizon and tell me what you see.”

Duncan whistled giving the order to increase the Ostagar to full speed. The airship lurched as the steam valves opened full and with a belch the ship moved from wind to steam power with increasing speed. Alistair for his part tried to train his eyes to search ahead, but dark clouds obscured the area.

Steadying his frame by holding onto the railing, Alistair slowed his breathing and focused on the dark clouds. A wide column churned and billowed upward from somewhere below. “Those are not clouds,” Alistair said, “it is smoke, and by the size something very large is burning.”

“Cousland Manor,” Duncan exclaimed in a half whisper, before clasping Alistair on the shoulder. “Quickly Alistair, prepare yourself. You must retrieve Professor Cousland and his family no matter the cost.” Before Alistair could ask, Duncan pushed him toward the captain’s quarters. “Your harness, shield and gear wait inside. Be sure you forget nothing, once you disembark, the safety and lives of the Couslands rests with you.”

Alistair halted, using his strength to hold back his mentor’s movements. “Disembark? Duncan, I am not leaving you aboard the Ostagar alone, let the men land the ship and we will work together.”

Something in the slow shake of Duncan’s head made little sense. “You’re expecting interference in the skies,” Alistair said.

“That is a possibility. Time waits for none, Alistair. Seize what little advantage we have and save the Professor.”

Nodding, Alistair’s long strides carried him back into the captain’s quarters. His sword rested on its stand, and without a glance, he slid the blade firmly into the sheath at his side. Alistair did not carry gadgets as many did, his one caveat, was the shield gauntlet from his father. The gauntlet slid over his hand, leaving only his fingers and elbow exposed. A brilliant piece by any standard, the gauntlet sported a large rosette near the wrist, bulbous and heavy; the ornate metal adornment carried a secret. A simple fist activated the shield, articulated metal plates hidden within the rosette unfolded with blinding speed forming a shield. A twist of his wrist angled the slats edge out giving Alistair a secondary weapon.

A quick test revealed the shield in working order. He eyed the guns and belt resting on the map table and without hesitation snatched the belt letting it ride on his hips. He’d figure them out. Alistair’s final step led him to the coatrack where his Warden uniform jacket waited.  Alistair abhorred the formality of the dress uniform, but Duncan had insisted. Most wore blue, their uniforms accented in silver. Duncan and Alistair as emissaries of the Regent dressed appropriately in Ferelden’s rich green tones; his shirt and waistcoat both in a deeper hue than the long waisted vest. Golden buttons on the waistcoat matched the Warden insignia brooch pinned at his shirt collar’s center.

With little time to check his appearance, Alistair grabbed his green tinted goggles and pulled them on. _Something tells me I’m taking the short route to the ground_ , he thought. Pulling on his right glove and stowing the left for later, Alistair exited the cabin.

“Are you prepared?” Duncan’s voice rose, not in anger, but to speak over the groan of the engines.

Thick black smoke poured from the port side. “You’re pushing her too hard, she’ll break apart!”

Duncan shook his head, placing his hands on Alistair’s shoulders. “She’ll hold,” he said, “now go. Maker watch over you.”

A quick glance over the edge confirmed the rope reached almost all the way to the ground. “Are you sure this time?” Alistair shouted, remembering the last sortie where he’d had to drop nearly seven feet to the ground below thanks to a miscalculation. His expression softened before he smiled. “I’m a bit partial to walking, you know!”

“You’ll be fine,” Duncan said, before pointing to the rope. “Hurry, Alistair. I shall meet you as soon as possible.” He stepped closer to Alistair until he could speak in the younger Warden’s ear. “Listen. The Professor is your goal, but if you can find young Lisette, guard her well. Where the father fails, the child learns and succeeds.” Duncan ended his speech with a sharp clap on Alistair’s back.

The Ostagar descended at an accelerated rate; the relentless pounding of the engines still worrisome to Alistair. He’d never known Duncan to make such reckless decisions; Alistair had to assume the Couslands meant far more to Cailan than Duncan could express.  Hands tugged and pulled checking the strops and strength of his gear before Alistair climbed over the railing and Duncan threaded the rope through the descent ring on his harness.

“Duncan, do me one courtesy?” Alistair paused, raising a single brow. “Do not cut me loose this time, each time we resupply, the explanation falls to me, and I can assure you the quartermaster is sick and tired of my excuses. Apparently ropes of considerable lengths do not grow on trees and not even my usual charming self is enough to get what we need.”

Duncan’s chuckle didn’t register as the engines whined from the strain of their rapid descent. A short exhale and a salute in Duncan’s direction preceded Alistair’s jump. Letting his rappelling ring do most of the work, Alistair kept his eyes fixed on the horizon; to look down would only disorient him.

A sudden lurch and sputter high above him elicited a sudden warning. _Too many risks for a tinker and his family_ , Alistair thought, _Cailan asked too much of us._ A Tinker, like the professor, often worked with machines and gadgets. Alistair didn’t fully believe the claims. Anyone who could make metal creatures and machines that required little more than steam or a key to function had to employ some form a magic, no matter what they claimed.

Magic, real magic had been outlawed by nearly all the lands in Thedas, all but three forbade its use. Tevinter to the north and its perpetual waring neighbor on Par Vollen refused to give up magic, and Rivain with its nomadic families denied any wrong doing refusing to follow.

The closer Alistair dropped to the ground, sounds of fighting and shouts grew louder. His goggles blocked the wind and debris, but they also obscured his vision in the daylight. Nearly to the ground, Alistair risked letting the rope go to push the goggles to his forehead. Without warning, the rope slackened, leaving Alistair to drop several feet. He rolled as his gear allowed and guessed he’d have a fair number of scrapes and bruises from another botched landing.

Alistair couldn’t contemplate Duncan’s reasoning for cutting him loose, not with the armed men facing off against a lone woman. Dressed for afternoon tea, she was far more suited to royal parlors and receiving guests than to fending off four men with guns and swords.

He raced toward the fray and stopped, surprised at her skill. A sword in her right hand parried an advance only to slash at her adversary with a parasol causing the man to rear back. It was at the follow through Alistair realized the parasol hid a blade in its tip.

“Stop gawking and help me!” She shouted, a quick glance in Alistair’s direction revealed she spoke to him. “You wear the Regent’s colors, so do . . . something!”

 _Do something._ Alistair held his tongue. Another puffed up noble ready to tell him what he should be doing during a rescue. “As you command, my Lady,” Alistair said, “do us a favor, be a dear and fetch your husband and children.” Alistair accepted his rudeness as a necessary evil. He didn’t need to worry about anyone other than himself until the four men in front of him were dealt with.

Sword drawn, Alistair sought to face off against the men, when the woman grabbed the ornate handgun from his belt and fired at the crowd of men. The smoking barrel and deafening sound enough proof the contraptions worked, causing him to stow his sword in the confusion and draw the other, pulling back the hammer and discharging the second weapon. Two had fallen, and the others retreated their own swords unable to stand against firearms.

“Here,” the woman said, handing the gun back to Alistair. “Tell me you have more. There are at least half a dozen of Howe’s men on the manor grounds. I managed to bring down at least a handful more with mother’s help, but father,” her breath caught as she paused, “they  injured him. Is Cailan here?”

 _Father? Mother?_ Alistair realized he’d not asked any questions of the Cousland family. “You’re her, the youngest? I must apologize for my earlier assumptions. Duncan told me the name, but I’ll admit-”

“Lisette,” she answered, gesturing for Alistair to follow. “If you know of Duncan, then you are here because of Cailan! Quickly we must save my father.” She quickened her steps, Alistair slightly amazed she could move in swift steps in her fancy dress. He followed her across the grounds, seeing no sign of any additional men.  “The lab is through here,” she said, her eyes expectant and hopeful.

l-l-l

Memories were a dangerous journey, uncovering old wounds and dredging up emotions long thought under control. Alistair leaned against the cold stone walls of the stair well, closing his eyes. So much had happened since he followed Lisette on that day. He’d never intended to get caught in her troubles, but from the moment she pulled him in, Alistair’s life changed in ways he never imagined.

From his rest, the loud hiss of the steam generators and rhythmic thump of the pumps provided enough proof his ride could leave as soon as he arrived.  He hurried up the last two flights of stairs, caring little for the twinge in his legs as he pushed them to climb and exit the tower stairwell for the landing pad. His second love waited for him, hovering like a ship on the seas, she pulled against her mooring lines.

“Your Grace!” A deckhand waved to Alistair and out of respect, he returned the gesture. He’d asked for volunteers only, Alistair would force none to undertake such an impossible journey; even Alistair questioned his sanity. A rope ladder waited for him to ascend, and without looking back he climbed up and onto the deck.

“All is ready, Your Grace. There is just the matter of our little friend, and then the skies and the Griffin are yours.” On any other occasion, Alistair would have laughed at Lisette and her strange sense of humor naming the ship the Griffin. “ _Every Warden needs a Griffin to carry him, Alistair. This is merely my interpretation.”_

Determined steps carried him to the main cabin. In the center of the map table sat a cylindrical item, covered in a black satin cloth. Beneath it, their guide, their salvation waited to wake from her rest. Alistair tried to settle his racing heart; the thought of seeing Lisette after so long overwhelming his senses.

He hesitated; wondering if waking this wonder would lead them to her or to another fate. He’d left Ferelden to the Guerrin family until his return, and with his affairs in order, Alistair had prepared to make the journey wherever it would take him. But now, faced with the reality his hand shook. “Enough,” he said, steeling his nerves. “For my Lizzy.”

The satin covering slid easily from gentle coaxing, the cool fabric falling like water from a fountain-fluid and smooth. “Hello beautiful,” he whispered. Words spoken in love woke a small creature sleeping within.

A clockwork hummingbird stirred on its perch. At first glance, the tiny bird looked similar to a music box or ornate clock piece, but in truth, it lived; as much as anything created from metal and gears could do. In Lisette’s hands, however, these simple twists and turns of gold and silver defied logic, life from lifelessness. Lisette confessed she poured every bit of her heart into the tiny bird. When she’d given it to Alistair, he’d been overjoyed, the tiny bird accompanied him throughout his day; sleeping in the gilded lily Lisette had constructed for his lapel. When Lisette planned her departure, she made Alistair promise to follow in five years’ time. Lisette took the lily, convinced the bird would find it and her. The day she left, he banished the hummingbird to its cage.

Inside the cage, gears turned, slowly at first and a faint clicking sound showed tiny eyelids clicking in mock blinking. A whirring sound increased as the minuscule gyro where the bird’s heart would rest spun to life, allowing the bird to hover. Clicks and whistles increased in speed as Alistair fumbled with the door latch.  The bird shot from the cage, its wings fluttering in blinding speeds, zooming around the cabin and then smacking into Alistair’s neck. He feared the bird malfunctioned in some way, ending their journey before it had begun.

And then he felt it, the smooth metal cap on the hummingbird’s head rubbed on the underside of his chin. A half smile crossed his face at the artificial display of affection. Alistair’s hardened heart softened at the remembrance of his tiny companion; convinced the tiny marvel carried a piece of Lisette’s heart within its mechanism.  “I missed you, too,” he said, “but I need your help, little one. Find her.”

 


	2. A Rescue, An Argument and a Bit With a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is revealed as Alistair and Duncan travel to save the Cousland family aboard the airship Ostagar. Tensions flare and an argument sets the younger Lady Cousland to square off against Warden Alistair.

 Industrial Age, Year 95, 8th Bloomingtide

Fury’s hand hurled the china teacup at Alistair’s head, but missed its mark; he turned in time to dodge watching it shatter against the wall. “Bastard!” Lisette’s anger intensified. “You could have told me who you were!”

“A moment, _my Lady_ ,” Alistair’s overemphasis on her title darkened her expression.  “Producing proper documentation hadn’t crossed my mind while I was saving you and your parents. Had I known you found my presence so distasteful, I would have jumped from our airship without a rope freeing you from the horrid truth of who fathered my miserable existence.”

It made little sense to rest on proper manners in Alistair’s thoughts when there could be no winner in the argument with Lisette Cousland. Alistair still deferred to Lady Eleanor as she nursed her husband, excusing himself to find Duncan on the deck. The elder Lady Cousland’s weakened acknowledgement sufficient enough for him exit.

Guilt walked with him onto the Ostagar’s deck. Alistair didn’t need to be a surgeon to recognize the severity of the Professor’s injuries. He recited a silent prayer for the Ostagar’s swift travel through the skies to Denerim before it proved too late.

The bustling activity on deck swept Alistair into its wake, turning him into the path of extra deck hands and attendants while he searched for Duncan.

Volunteers from Cousland Manor had joined them, tripling the compliment. The comfort often provided by his time on the Ostagar stolen by the younger Lady Cousland’s reaction to his identity soured Alistair’s mood.

He sighed giving a quick glance behind him. _I’ll have to apologize or make amends or something_ , he thought. A sharp whistle from behind drew Alistair’s attention to the quarterdeck above the captain’s cabin.  Duncan stood giving instructions to the helmsman who nodded in response to the Warden Commander’s words. Alistair’s brows knit together as the young helmsman wiped the sweat from his brow. In crispness of the air and cooler temperatures of night, Alistair attributed the man’s reaction to fear.

In contrast, the steeled jaw and direct stare from Duncan revealed a man who had seen far worse in his life and understood how to face adversarial situations composed and prepared. Explaining the argument required tact and a certain discretion. _Problem is, had I used either I wouldn’t have to explain my actions._

A small hand gesture beckoned Alistair to approach; Duncan waited for Alistair to join him before the two moved to the railing. “You should know even with the engines running as they are,” Duncan paused, the corners of his mouth raising for a moment before he coughed, “your conversation with young Lady Cousland carried,” Duncan said, leading Alistair away from the helm.  

“Oh,” Alistair responded, a tinge of color rising from his neck to his cheeks. “I may have overreacted.”

“I must have misheard you, Alistair. Did you say you _may_ have overreacted?”

An exaggerated sigh and slump of Alistair’s shoulders ended all pretenses and Alistair attempted to explain his reasoning. “I tried to be civil, I swear on the Maker I did, but after all we did to help. Why must I sit and listen for the hundredth time how I am a stain on the honor of my family name?”

A raised brow questioned Alistair without words.

“Fine, maybe not the hundredth, but it’s definitely enough. I jumped from the airship, helped the family and then,” he stopped to laugh and wag his finger scolding either himself or the subject of his retelling, “and then carried bag, crate and barrel of Maker knows what because no one could leave without Andraste’s blessed ball peen hammer or some nonsense.”

“Alistair,” Duncan tried to interrupt.

Committed to his tirade, Alistair’s arms flung out in exasperation. “But after all that work without so much as a simple thank you, that. . .that _Lisette_ launched into a tirade of my quest to overthrow my morally superior and far more, according to her, handsome brother who is at this moment counting the moments until he can see one Lady Lisette Cousland in the flesh.”

“Alistair,” Duncan said shaking his head, “Andraste’s blessed ball peen hammer?”

He shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind. I’m not sure I even know what a ball peen hammer does. What is it?”

A firm grip clasped Alistair shoulder. “Keep that humor, you will need it when we arrive in Denerim.” Duncan’s attention waned, his eyes focused on something off in the distance.

“I’ll apologize, and once we reach the city and the Cousland family falls under Cailan’s protection, none of this will matter.” Alistair waited for more from Duncan, but noted his distraction. He’d grown used to Duncan’s superior focus on a task, often recounting the smallest detail of their responsibilities; his silence seemed out of place. “Is something wrong?”

“I. . .cannot say with any certainty.” Duncan left Alistair alone, his attention fixed once more to the skies behind the Ostagar.

Duncan’s repeated glances behind them solidified Alistair’s belief. _Trouble follows_ , he thought taking the steps two at a time to reach his mentor. “What is it?”

The calm order to increase their speed carried from the helmsman down the line. The Ostagar would make for Denerim at her best speed.  A shudder passed through the ship as the dampers opened full and her engines exhaled clearing the valves.

A confirmation of the ship’s readiness returned in relayed shouts until it reached Alistair’s ears.  “She’s ready,” he said to Duncan with a nod. Alistair’s head buzzed with questions and concerns, all of them leading to the one topic Duncan would never discuss. A secret existed in his past, one that connected him to Alistair’s father and to Loghain. The thought carried enough weight for Alistair to speak it aloud.

“It’s Loghain, isn’t it,” Alistair said, not waiting for confirmation. “What can a tinker possibly have to do with-” Alistair stopped himself. He’d pledged never to use the word _father_ to describe Maric.  “What has this to do with the king’s disappearance?”  He’d long suspected Duncan held back more information than he’d shared, but his respect had always kept Alistair’s curiosity in check.

“Not now, Alistair,” Duncan’s rebuke carried a hollow smile turning them away from the helmsman.  “I promise you will learn everything at the proper time, for now I am counting on you,” Duncan said. “Take several of the crew below and secure the Professor’s cargo, activate the signal beacon and then prepare for battle.”

 “Anything from the shops while I’m at it?” Alistair called over his shoulder as he walked away. The bit of levity was as much for Alistair’s peace of mind as it was to lighten Duncan’s mood. A few hand signals called a handful of men to Alistair’s side, relaying the orders from the Warden Commander before leading the group into the hold.  

 The Ostagar could handle a full complement of Wardens, nearly seventy-five could fit comfortably below. _Unless of course_ , Alistair thought, _one is carting two noble ladies and a professor who insisted on bringing every possession during an escape for their lives. In that case?_ He shook his head at the volume of items that would require secure lines. “All bets are off,” he said aloud.

From somewhere deep in the pile of crates and bags, Alistair was sure he heard an animal whine. “Did the rest of you hear that?”

One deckhand pushed to the front, quickly removing his cap and twisting it in his hands. “About that Ser.”

 Alistair didn’t care if the men wanted to bring along a pet, it wasn’t for him to deny the request. “Make sure Duncan is aware, that’s all.” Alistair turned toward the group and instructed them to fasten the tie lines.

Near the port side containers, a blue canvas tarp rustled earning Alistair’s attention. Navigating through the cargo, a sharp and hollow bark cut through the engine noise and work of the men. “Whose dog is it?” Alistair’s question met with no response, turning him to face the group. “Well?”

“It’s not a dog, Ser,” offered one.

Alistair shrugged. “Rather large for a cat and while I have seen some strange things, a cat who barks is not among them.”

“It’s not a cat, either,” another took over, “truth is-it’s not exactly. . .human, Ser.”

With little time for games and word play, Alistair’s aggravation spoke first. “Of course it’s not human. It’s an animal and all I want to know is which one of you brought it on board?”

 “The Lady, sir. She did, but. . .he’s harmless, sweet and rather helpful.” 

“He?” Alistair faced the tarp again, careful to tread with light steps.

“Yes Ser, his name’s Sprocket.”

“Sprocket?” Another bark moved the tarp once more, but the dog remained hidden. “Well trained, wouldn’t you say?” Alistair cursed his curiosity moving closer to the tarp. _Figures the dog would have some tinker name_ , he thought, _they couldn’t name him something normal_. He paused, assuming the dog had required tethering for a reason, although the men’s reassurances of a sweet disposition contradicted the need to tether a dog in a cargo hold. It seemed reasonable to Alistair the poor creature would be better off on deck, but without approval from their passengers, Alistair would have to settle for setting the poor animal’s heart at ease with a little attention.    

Alistair didn’t hate tinkers, they were a necessity. Airships, steam engines and mechanisms of all shapes and sizes relied on them. In fact, tinkers led Thedas into the future.

Everything that made travel through Thedas take hours over days and weeks had opened so much more, bringing people and cultures together, but then again natural barriers that kept people apart no longer existed.

The Raiders of the Waking Seas took to the skies widening their range. No longer held to the waters, the group prospered; their presence forced much of Thedas to reevaluate how to approach the Raiders. Hefty bribes and tributes kept the piratical airships from Ferelden’s skies, but the loose agreement angered other nations; Cailan’s swift decision to ally with the Raiders raised political tensions and created a negative view of his leadership.

As regent, Cailan’s fascination with all things mechanical led him to seek out any and all who might advance Ferelden’s position in Thedas. Alistair disagreed; Cailan saw progress and assurances, but Alistair feared betrayal. The two had no quarrel with one another; after Maric disappeared, it had been Cailan’s wish to mend the way between them, and Alistair had agreed. When Cailan tried to remove Alistair from the Grey Wardens and set him alongside him Alistair faced public ridicule and scrutiny. Claims of intrigue and warnings of disloyalty forced Alistair to decline, but the damage done followed him from that point onward, fueling resentment and distrust of any who believed the rumors.

Duncan wasn’t teasing earlier, whenever Alistair appeared in Denerim, it often ended strained and difficult for both brothers. Keeping his humor light and calm proved essential; especially with the emotional state of the Cousland family.

Unwilling to think on the Cousland family more than necessary, Alistair resumed his approach.  Encouraged by several of the men, Alistair lifted the tarp to reveal a machine.  He gasped, surprised by a mechanical dog sitting back on its haunches; no flesh, no bone only metal, silver in color. The pieces appeared hammered by hand by the indentation pattern on the small metal sheets comprising its body. _Someone put a lot of love and attention into you_ , he thought. Alistair regarded the dog with a sense of wonder he’d thought long lost.

_“Here,” Maric said, handing the box to Alistair. “It’s a clown; he’ll dance when you wind him, Alistair.”_

_Seven-year-old Alistair accepted the box from the tall man._

_“What do you say to your father, Alistair? King Maric traveled here for your birthday.” Eamon Guerrin, Alistair’s guardian apologized, citing he’d work with Alistair’s manners._

_The young boy looked up at the man, his long reddish brown hair and beard and dark suit didn’t look much like a king might in Alistair’s head, but he knew better than to keep silent and answered. “Thank you, King Maric.”_

_“He’s six, Eamon, just turned into his seventh year. Give the boy a chance to grow a little,” Maric said. “It’s my fault, I should. . .well, I wish I-”_

_Eamon placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “When they’re older, Your Majesty.”_

_The clown did as the king explained; all that it required was a golden key placed into the square notch at the clown’s back. Five good turns transformed a small metal statue into a marvelous toy. It whirred as it moved. Every fifth turn the clown’s hat would tip with a sharp popping noise. The tiniest pins connected arms at the elbows and legs at the knees. When he held the clown’s chest up to his ear, Alistair heard a ticking sound leading him to believe the metal toy lived. Eamon had explained the sounds and movement due to gears mimicking heartbeats and moving limbs, but cautioned to guard the key. Without it, the clown stopped moving and would be nothing more than a statue._

Thoughts of his lonely childhood left Alistair with a fixed stare directed to the clockwork dog. “How?” Alistair tilted his head to the right taking in the pistons for legs and moving gears where natural joints should be.  A shift of his head to the left coaxed a light laugh as the dog copied him; eyes suddenly alight in a rich amber hue from within its metal head. “Sprocket?”

The machine responded in an even more excited bark, shifting on metal pads fashioned to appear like paws, its articulated toes clacking against the floor.

“You’re quite the digger I imagine, aren’t you, boy?” Alistair’s tentative reach brought his hand closer until a woman’s angry voice cut through the hold.

“Leave it alone!”  Lisette shouted across the hold. “It’s not working; you’ll break it!”

Alistair crouched in front of Sprocket. “He not _it_ ,” Alistair said over his shoulder, “and _he_ seems to work fine.”  His attention shifting away from Lisette, Alistair asked, “you’re a he, aren’t you?” Sprocket’s muffled bark answered in return. Despite his unease, Alistair offered his hand to the mechanical dog. With a similar tentativeness, the dog mimicked sniffing Alistair’s hand, blinking several times. “Can you hear me?”

The dog leaned his head against Alistair’s hand with a soft, mechanical whine. _It’s a machine_ , he thought, _but he’s asking for affection._ “How is any of this possible?” Thinking back to the toy clown, Alistair realized this animal carried far more sophistication than any toy.

Lisette’s frown dissipated enough for her to speak. “That automaton is a gift, and I’d appreciate if you’d not play with it.”

 _Cailan_ , Alistair thought. Thinking on his brother’s dislike of dogs, Alistair wondered if sharing the news would be a worthwhile endeavor. Given their less than amicable meeting and subsequent conversations, Alistair decided to keep the knowledge to himself. _She wouldn’t believe me even if I tried._

"I’m not playing with anything,” Alistair said, rising to his feet. “Sprocket needs attention, not to hide.”

Her hands balled into fists, and despite his earlier promise to apologize, her reaction filled him with a smug satisfaction at her annoyance. Lisette’s silence suggested restraint; he guessed the elder Lady Cousland reminded Lisette of proper behavior and the struggle to maintain it kept the lady rooted to the floor. “Fine.”

The concession on her part renewed his guilt just enough to offer a compromise. “With respect, should we encounter any difficulties, it might be safer if Sprocket remained in your quarters,” Alistair offered, “given his importance, of course,” Alistair gestured with his head toward the dog. He attempted a cordial smile, not wanting to seem false or overeager in any way. _I probably look a mad fool grinning at her, but if a fool she can hardly stay angry, right? I’m making an effort, at least._

Lisette said little else, except for a few curt words to bring the automaton at his convenience. Rather than add anything more to reignite her ire, Alistair nodded. He’d remembered the beacon almost immediately following the lady’s departure, winding through the crates and supply barrels toward the bow and the beacon housing. Once he activated the switch, the Ostagar could send a low signal to Denerim’s fleet. The beacon switch had an emergency setting, reserved for only the most extreme of circumstances. Alistair flipped the first switch and a green light glowed, but when he toggled the emergency switch, the light changed to red and the airship lurched forward from an impact.

“That can’t be good,” Alistair said, rushing the crew from the hold. The dog remained behind until Alistair whistled. “It’s time to earn your passage, Sprocket.”

Two more impacts glanced off the Ostagar’s hull. Whoever engaged them was either very stupid or eager to prevent the ship from reaching Denerim.  The Ostagar’s reinforced hull could withstand far more than the average airship’s weapon complement. Unfazed, Alistair led the dog back to the main cabin.

He spoke with as little emotion as possible. “We’ll reach Denerim soon, there is nothing to fear. The Ostagar has faced far worse and prevailed.”

A strained laugh followed by a string of coughs carried Alistair closer to the bedside. Soft words of caution met with a placating hand. “Warden,” Lady Eleanor said, “please come closer. Bryce wishes to speak with you.” Outside the cabin, another impact rocked the airship.

Alistair noticed the use of the familiar rather than addressing the Professor by his title or his position. _Bryce, she’d said._ Her use of the Professor’s proper name calling attention to the rarity to forego formality and show affection in front of a stranger.  Careful in his approach, Alistair crouched near the bedside.

“Eleanor,” the Professor said, his voice weak and shaking. By the pallor of his face, Alistair assumed his injuries far worse than originally reported.

He leaned as close as he dared. “We have a mage on board?”

Most tinkers abhorred magic, they thrived on making the unattainable real; illusion through science and ingenuity. Mages weren’t natural in their eyes.

The Professor shook his head. “It is. . .it is.” He stopped, closing his eyes and laboring through a deep breath. The Lady Eleanor gripped Alistair’s hand.

“That time has passed. Take this.” She pressed a metal object into Alistair’s hand. “Everything you and your brother require rests inside. The box rests with one of my husband’s associates. The dog knows. Be wary, Loghain will do whatever is necessary to stop you.”

“Loghain? What does that pirate have to do with any of this?”  Alistair felt the polished metal cold against his palm. “I don’t understand.”

The Professor released his wife’s hand. “I will not see the city. Promise you will watch over Eleanor and Lizzy.”

 _Lizzy?_ Alistair never imagined the cold and harsh Lady Cousland would ever allow anyone to call her Lizzy.  “We’re almost there; surely Cailan’s surgeon and healers wait for us.”

“No.” The Professor’s conviction startled Alistair. “Swear, Alistair Theirin, as a Grey Warden and a man of the royal line _you_ will see them safe.”  

The protest fresh in his mind, Alistair stopped. There was no doubt in the Professor’s eyes, no delusion. Lucid and adamant, he sought an oath and if the man knew he would soon rest with the Maker, Alistair would honor his request. “I swear on my name and my blood, Ser. Your family will see the safety of Denerim and her Regent.” An unnatural silence took hold; Alistair unable to hear the engines or any further impact tremors. The door to the cabin crashed open, frantic requests shouted in his direction took time to sharpen, until Alistair rose and followed the deckhand away from the Professor and his wife.

The spires of Denerim loomed in the skyline before them, and behind them five airships closed in on the Ostagar.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name "Sprocket" is taken from Fraggle Rock, it is not mine. Art by kstarrlynn on tumblr!


	3. Of Pirates and Corsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ostagar is attacked in the skies above Ferelden. When a fire ignites in the engine room, Alistair is stuck below when Loghain's men approach.

Alistair took control of the men on deck, those who’d served on the Ostagar before hurried below to operate her guns.  “Open the valves! Engines to full, Helm, south by southeast! Keep us out of range of their weapons fire!”  The rhythmic thump of the engines picked up the pace, and the Ostagar pushed on, increasing the distance between her and her pursuers.

The deckhands shouted the orders back, Alistair confident the men could keep it together until Cailan sent reinforcements.  The scent of melted wax and engine oil filled his nostrils. “That’s it boys! Keep her going!” Duncan stood at the stern, spyglass in hand, watching their pursuers.  His rigid stance pulled Alistair’s attention leading him closer.

“Loghain has built quite the armada,” Alistair offered.

Duncan hummed in response.

“Is that an agreement or a dismissal?” Alistair waited for Duncan’s response.

“Neither,” Duncan replied, “I am not convinced that all sail under Loghain’s control.” He pointed off in the distance. “The first ship alone boasts Gwaren’s flag, if the others were part of Loghain’s fleet he would insist upon the flag of his birthplace.”

Duncan’s point rang true. Loghain’s pride in his home had never wavered. “If the others are not under his direction, then who has joined him?”

On their left, the airship following Loghain’s turned away; it appeared as though her captain abandoned his pursuit when Alistair saw four huge puffs of smoke expelled from the side. Seconds later, staccato bursts sounded in the air, as a barrage of fire battered Loghain’s airship. Even without the aid of a spyglass Alistair could see the battle. “They fire on Loghain!”

“Yes, Alistair,” replied Duncan, “and if I am not mistaken, we will owe the Raiders of the Skies a debt if they drive him away.”   

“Those pirates aided us?” Alistair refused to believe a band of ruthless mercenaries would aid a Grey Warden ship without a hefty prize in mind. “They likely seek the Ostagar for their own.”

“Have faith, Alistair. Who can know the Maker’s will?”

The younger Warden scoffed. “This has nothing to do with faith and everything to do with whomever holds the purse strings.” A sudden lurch forced the two men to grip the railing. Loud clangs and plumes of smoke carried a pungent scorched odor causing Alistair’s eyes to water. “That can’t be good.”

Duncan hurried Alistair along to the engine room beneath the cabin. A fire below would put them at great risk. Thick black smoke burned Alistair’s eyes and throat as he ventured below; the engineer and several deckhands extinguishing the oil fire offered little solace as the engineer shared the bad news.

“She’s done, at least for now,” the man said, his sweat slicked face streaked with black soot and dirt revealed he’d been working for some time on the engines. “We pushed her too far. It’s salvageable, but we’re lame.” The engineer used his forearm to swipe the sweat from his face. “We’ll reach Denerim, but it’ll take time.”

Alistair understood. They’d pushed the engines to reach Cousland Manor and forced the Ostagar to travel at top speed to save the Professor. The chase had overtaxed and overheated the delicate mechanisms. She wasn’t built as a warship; built in a time of peace, the Ostagar’s retrofit to accommodate her guns had worked, but the engines were never upgraded during the process. Concerned for the men and those on board, Alistair had to be sure the danger had passed. “And the fires?”

The engineer responded again. “We caught it, Ser. She’s in no danger, I promise you.”

“Good man,” Alistair said, thanking the crew for their swift thinking. He couldn’t bring himself to share the truth of the predicament; without the engines Loghain would overtake them. The fate of the Ostagar rested with the Raiders of the Skies; Alistair hoped whoever had funded their endeavors had very deep pockets.

Shouts and calls to stand down reached Alistair’s ears. “Maker’s Breath, now what?” Ready to face the next obstacle, Alistair tried to climb the ladder leading to the hold, but a deckhand pushed him back descending the ladder.

“Ser, Warden Commander’s orders. You are to remain hidden.”

Alistair refused. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m going.”

“Ser, you can’t! Loghain, he’s demanding you give yourself over to him. The Commander insisted you are not on board. We are to keep you safe, Ser.”  

Several men blocked Alistair’s access to the ladder; it wasn’t the only exit from the engine room, a small hatch led to the cargo hold in case of an emergency, but Alistair noted the engineer had blocked the path. “Duncan shouldn’t face Loghain alone,” Alistair said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Someone in the cramped space replied. “We’re not giving Loghain anything.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Alistair paused, “I should be grateful for your loyalty.”

A sharp curse from the engineer pulled the group’s attention as the hatch smacked him in the ankles and a hushed voice angrily demanded entry, the voice distinctly feminine. “Let me help!”

Alistair nodded, wondering how either of the women they carried on board would know how to help with an engine. He gestured for the engineer to step aside, and as fast as he moved, the hatch swung up revealing Lisette Cousland. Still crawling through the hatch, she spoke. “You lost the wax seals and the belts. I can smell the melted cores. I’ve got a few that will work, but I couldn’t get to my tools.” Without brushing the dirt and grime away, Lisette pulled a burlap sack through the hatch opening.  

“Your tools, Lady Cousland?” Alistair’s amusement carried in a half smile and curious tone.

She rolled her eyes and asked the engineer for his help; instructing him and his assistant to remove the housing and lend her a wrench. “My father,” she said, her exertions slowing her speech, “had suggested the engine upgrades to the Wardens years ago.”  Her blue and white striped skirt flounced slightly, weighted by the muck she’d picked up through the crawl space and engine room.

Alistair couldn’t believe what he saw; a noble crawling about the floor, chattering on about engines and airships.

“. . .the Commander tried to reason with Loghain,” Lisette continued to talk, bringing Alistair back into the conversation. “Loghain insists on handing you over to him for the Ostagar’s freedom.”

The engineer scoffed. “Not happening, my lady. Sorry, you’ll have to go through me.” The sentiment continued through the cramped area filling Alistair with renewed gratitude.

Lisette huffed the hair from her face, reaching a slender hand through a small opening. “You can all breathe; I’ve no intentions to turn the Warden over to that monster.” She grimaced, her face contorting for a moment, until a loud clank brought a smile to her face. “Got it!” Lisette instructed the men to lift the casing. She raised her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Small hands,” she said, “the problem is in these older engines, you either need to have small hands to release the casing or suffer through taking the whole bloody thing apart.” She turned her attention to Alistair. “You should have let us upgrade the engines. All the newer models, the release is on the outside,” she tapped the bottom section of the housing with a wrench, “right here. We did that for easier access.” 

Disbelief crossed Alistair’s face at Lisette’s ownership of these innovations. “Wait. You’re serious? How?”

At first, she seemed to ignore his surprise, asking the engineer to search the sack for the belts she’d collected. “I don’t remember the size father used when he built the Ostagar; I think I was four, maybe five.”

The engineer rummaged through the bag and pulled out a bundle of belts, picking one from the group. He untied the rope binding them together and handed the selection to Lisette. “It’s this one, my Lady.”

She crouched again, the slight billowing of her skirt catching Alistair’s attention. “To answer your question, Alistair, my father taught me,” she said, slipping her hand between the mechanisms and sliding the end of the belt inside. She looked up at the engineer. “I’ll feed the top through, and you’ll need to pull it through.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Lisette, please,” she corrected.

“Begging the lady’s pardon, but my mother would be cross to know I’d referred to a lady noble by her proper name.” He completed the required task. “All set, my lady.”

She addressed no one in particular. “These older engines still rely on belts and they can only withstand so much. Father’s research allowed for more efficient engines and he fitted a few airships with his latest designs.”

He’d remained silent while the repairs continued, but Alistair couldn’t help but see the difference in Lisette’s demeanor as she worked with the ship’s men and the engines. She relaxed, even laughed a bit as the men crossed their fingers and waited for the engine to start once more.

With a few puffs of black smoke, the mechanism quieted down and hummed, ready to power the turbines once more. Lisette stood, wiped her filthy hands on her dress and asked one man to venture onto the deck. “Here’s what we need. If you’re willing head to the deck and stand just above us, do you know where that would be? It’s about four feet from the edge of the quarterdeck.”

The deckhand nodded, “Yes, my lady. I know it.”

“Good. If the deck is clear from any unwanted men, you stomp twice. We’ll open her up and get us to Denerim,” she paused, “but if Loghain or any of his men stain our ship, stomp once.”

 _Our ship_ , Alistair mused, resisting the urge to smile. _She’s got them all ready to jump for her, quite the feat with this group._ Alistair had to know what she planned. “What happens if Loghain’s men _stain our ship_?”

She directed the man to exit through the hatch. “We’ll simply take it a bit slower until it’s too late for them to retreat and deliver the traitors to Cailan.”

A few tense minutes saw those gathered below holding a collective breath. When the hollow thump of a boot heel sounded twice, Lisette directed the engineer and his assistant to open the valves to full. “She’ll hold.”

The Ostagar lurched once, then again, but a quick apology from the engineer and a steady push on the throttle set the ship into motion. Shouts and calls from the deck carried to Alistair’s ears driving him toward the ladder. A firm grip held him back. Glancing over his shoulder, he wasn’t prepared to see Lisette holding him back.

“You can’t go,” she said. “I apologize for what I said earlier. You helped us, and I was rude.”

Alistair resisted the urge to sigh, choosing instead to answer her with honesty. “I’m used to it. I assure you, I am a Warden and have no plans to take anything from Cailan, but I need to get up there and help Duncan.”

“No, you don’t. The deck is clear, remember?” Lisette directed Alistair to follow her through to the cargo hold. Curiosity led his decisions and Alistair followed. She waited for him before continuing. “I need to tell you something, and I know you don’t like me very much, although I can’t blame you, I’ve been horrid.”

“My lady-”

She cut him off. “I’m trying to apologize. You can accept it or not, but I can help you on your search.”

Confused, Alistair’s blank stare changed the more he tried to make sense of her words. His brow creased. “My. . .my search,” the idea foreign to him, Alistair shook the confusion away. “What search?”

Lisette sighed, winding her way through the cargo flipping tarps and searching crates. She glanced over her shoulder before elaborating. “Cailan asked us to assist in the search for King Maric. That’s where you’re headed after Denerim, right? I can help.”

 _Search for Maric?_ Alistair did not know of any plans to do so. Cailan liked to talk, but had no intention of following through. Assuming the Wardens allowed Alistair to leave Duncan’s side, he’d need an airship, men and funds to consider looking for Maric, but where to begin posed an even bigger problem.  Lisette’s continued exploration of every crate, barrel and bag annoyed him; Alistair eager to learn more about Cailan’s plans. “What are you searching for now?”

“A moment.”

Alistair raised a single brow seeing the opportunity for levity. “You’re searching for a moment? I’ve never actually seen a moment, I’ve heard of others searching too, might have even done so a few times myself.”

She turned on her heel and glared. “You think you’re funny, but in truth you are not.” Lisette returned to her endeavor.

He shrugged. “Oh, now that’s a bit unfair, I can assure you sometimes I am quite funny. I’d even go so far as to say I can be witty or humorous. Perhaps the reason you find my wit so annoying is that you lack a sense of humor entirely.”

“Finally!” Lisette’s exasperation dismissed the conversation. A wooden trunk with a gold metal latch rested atop a few crates. She shrugged off her jacket and unbuckled the wide belt around her waist before pulling the latch open.

Alistair’s eyes widened as he realized Lisette undressed in front of him. “You realize I’m standing here in full view, right?”

She sighed, unbuttoning her frilled blouse and long cuffs. “Then don’t look.”

He gulped. “You asked me to follow you in here.” The burn of embarrassment rose from his neck in a slow crawl reaching his ears and overtaking his cheeks as she removed the blouse revealing an ivory corset. “Maybe I should leave.”

“It’s a corset, Alistair. I’m still clothed.” Shaking her head, she dug through the open trunk and pulled out another blouse. “If it’s too much, turn around, but I need to change and figured we could continue our conversation.”

“What,” his voice cracked, but Alistair coughed recovered his voice before continuing. “What conversation?”  Alistair gave Lisette his back for both privacy and the time to recover.

He fidgeted with his thumbnail. Alistair heard the rustle of fabric and he forced a cough several times.

“Almost done,” she said. “You’re so very different from Cailan.”

He started a quarter turn toward Lisette, but in his peripheral vision spotte her pulling on a pair of striped trousers and immediately turned back with a sharp exhale. Feigned laughter and a shuffle of his feet preceded a question. “So, you and Cailan then?”

Before Lisette responded, the hatch to the hold opened above them. “Hello! Lady Cousland!” A woman’s voice drifted below.

A pair of heeled white boots descended the ladder, followed by a woman dressed more suitably for the Red Light district in Denerim over anyplace else. Her dark hair and complexion suddenly familiar. The captain of the _Siren’s Command_ , a formidable woman and highly capable pilot led the Raiders of the Skies. Cailan trusted her, but Alistair’s concerns centered on the notion that pirates by nature were untrustworthy, and Isabela believed only in herself.

“Isabela,” Alistair fought to keep the disdain from his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass, among others,” she said with a grin. “Hello, little princeling.” Isabela’s attention strayed to the pile of clothes on the floor of the hold. “What exactly have you two been up to, and why wasn’t I invited?”

His face stoic and unmoved, Alistair raised a single brow. “Again, _pirate_ , what are you doing here?”

“Oh Alistair. Allow me to explain how this works. Me and the _Siren’s Command_ saved you from Loghain,” she said, her heeled boots scuffing along the floor. “A little gratitude would be appreciated.”

Lisette placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “She’s teasing, Alistair.”  The blush in Alistair’s cheeks renewed, despite Lisette’s fully clothed person.

“That’s adorable. The spare to the heir blushes. I think I’m in love.” Isabela teased.

“Isabela, give the Warden a break, how far to Denerim and how is my father?”

Smiles and laughter retreated in an instant. “We are almost to Denerim.” The bravado Isabela carried with her always shifted into a silent plea toward Alistair. Her eyes held his and the near imperceptible shake of her head caused his heart to sink. He understood. Professor Cousland had passed, and Isabela did not want to deliver the news.

 _Right_ , Alistair thought. _Please don’t muck this up_. “Lady Cousland, I believe . .  . that is . . .your father is at the Maker’s side.”

Lisette stumbled backwards shaking her head. “Is this some sick joke?” Her eyes darted to Alistair and then Isabela. “You were supposed to protect him.”

He expected tears and confusion, but Lisette’s rising anger shocked Alistair. She barreled through the two of them and climbed the ladder. Unsure if he should follow, Alistair waited a few moments before giving Isabela the ladder first.  “Thank you, but I believe your ship waits for her captain.”

She tried to smile. “I think I’ll stay here until we arrive, I have business to discuss with Cailan.”  Alistair recognized the discomfort but had enough knowledge of Isabela’s light fingers to know leaving her in the hold would prove unwise.

“Not likely. After you.”  He waited in the hold until Isabela reached the deck and turned to peer down at him.

“Not even a peek? How disappointing.”

Alistair ignored Isabela, concerned Lisette’s blame fell to him. Even when he reached the crisp air outside, the oppressive weight of the Professor’s passing countered his relief. Duncan joined him almost immediately.

“What you heard is the truth. Bryce Cousland rests with the Maker.”  The spires and towers of Denerim welcomed them, but the somber tones of a Chantry hymn carried them to the docks. Alistair hummed the tune along with men, its words a lament for the soul of the departed.

“You should have handed me over to Loghain and rushed the Professor to aid,” Alistair said. “Protecting me makes little sense Duncan.”  

Duncan remained silent; they spoke of this often. Instead, the older of the two Wardens directed the deck hands to prepare.

It wasn’t a matter of wanting to argue, Alistair believed Cailan’s personality and upbringing proved he was the better choice to lead Ferelden in Maric’s stead. The thought of Maric brought back Lisette’s offer. No one had spoken to him about a search for the missing king. Cailan’s habit of speaking his ideas aloud must have given Lisette the wrong idea.

Lisette’s loss weighed on Alistair’s thoughts. He could offer little more than condolences. He’d not known about Maric until turning sixteen and his mother passed when Alistair was born. The Wardens were the only real family he’d ever known.

Entering the main lanes of travel, the Ostagar’s grey and blue colors earned the admiration of others in smaller crafts, but one man on deck had the presence of mind to ring the ship’s bell. The old practice of telling time had long passed with the use of timepieces, but some airships honored the old seafaring ways.

Alistair counted the bells. _Eight. End of watch_. _They honor the Professor’s passing._ The slow advance toward Drakkon tower saw others pick up the call, realizing the Ostagar sang the song of a lost soul. The resonant tone of the bell’s lament passing from ship to ship filled Alistair with sadness.

Duncan’s hand rested on Alistair’s shoulder pulling his attention from his emotion. “I will assist the Cousland family.”

Even though Alistair offered his help Duncan insisted Alistair seek Cailan and share all that had transpired. Rather than shout across the deck, Alistair whistled sharply; he meant to call a deckhand to him. Instead, Alistair wasn’t prepared when the clockwork dog Sprocket ran to his side. The dog tilted its head to the right and sat in front of Alistair. “Looks like it’s you and me, my metal friend.”

 


	4. A Gift Between Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair returns to Denerim, his time occupied by plans, unwelcome help and a gift all orchestrated by his brother, Cailan.

The disbelieving stare in Cailan’s direction met with a request to remain silent; his raised index finger to his lips held the conversation while the two watched as Isabela’s over-exaggerated swaying hips retreated through the hall.

Eyes watering from her cloying perfume, Alistair fought the urge to cough. He’d thanked her for her intervention, and meant every word, but she’d shocked him with teasing and flirtatious prodding throughout the briefing. Every response or comment twisted into suggestion by Isabela left Alistair’s face and ears burning bright from embarrassment. 

Alistair waited until Cailan closed the door before rising from his seat. “Please don’t make me go through that again. I don’t understand why you had to bring her here.”

A soft chuckle answered Alistair’s question. “The Lady Isabela protects our interests in Ferelden, dear brother. A little understanding is required.”

Nearly choking out a laugh, Alistair gestured to the closed door. “Did you actually call that pirate a lady? Cailan, you’re smarter than me. Even I can see she’d sell out Ferelden for the right price.”

“Don’t underestimate Isabela. She knows the skies, Alistair. Remember, she found the Ostagar and stopped Loghain long before we received the signal.” An exasperated sigh from Alistair and drop to his chair made Cailan laugh. “You should stay here more often. I enjoy our visits.”

The younger of the two scoffed. “As do I, until the people of Denerim call for my head again. I’m a Warden. The whole point of me being lumped with the criminals and cast offs is to protect you, and even Isabela called me the _spare to the heir_. I need to get away from here, but to do that I need Duncan’s permission.”

The perception had never changed since Alistair’s parentage slipped into society. He’d not taken the surname until Cailan had insisted, citing the disrespect to his namesake. King Alistair Theirin. The King had lived many ages past, been beloved by many and had secured the Theirin legacy for generations to come. Only when Maric’s wife, Catelin had insisted on naming their son Cailan in keeping with history did the Theirin luck change.

Catelin died soon after from a mysterious illness, no cause ever identified. Maric and Cailan had to stumble through a strained relationship as Cailan grew older.  A brief affair returned to haunt Maric in the birth of his illegitimate son, whom he named Alistair Calenhad Theirin. The surname was quickly dropped to keep gossip to a minimum, and the boy was sent to live with the Guerrin family for fostering.   

Cailan put aside his papers. “Alistair, you are family. There is no doubt in my mind we are of the same blood. What must I say to convince you?”

The door to Cailan’s study slammed against the wall revealing a furious Lisette Cousland. Her clenched fists and mottled red face caused Alistair to sit up.

“What have you done with Sprocket!”

“Hello, Lizzy.” Cailan’s voice carried no distress as he rose to greet her, and a discreet gesture with his hand told Alistair to do the same. “My dear Lisette, please accept my deepest sympathies at the loss of your father. He was a giant among men, and his heart and mind will be missed by many.” Cailan offered a light peck on Lisette’s cheek breaking her free of her anger.

“I. . .forgive me, Cailan- Highness.” Lisette stumbled a single step backward, Cailan catching her arm.

“Lizzy, please. We’ve known one another since we could stand,” Cailan smiled. “In my rooms we ignore such formalities.” Cailan led her into the room.  “Your creation sits by the fire. A remarkable likeness, were I fond of dogs, I would be even more enraptured with your successes.”

Alistair grimaced at Cailan’s words, knowing the reaction that would soon follow. Lisette’s expression fell, disappointment or sadness taking over, Alistair couldn’t be sure which.

“I didn’t know,” she said.

Leading Lisette to a chair, Cailan explained walking around his desk to reach the chair. “Only a few do. Had a bit of a row with a certain mabari hound when I was ten, I may keep mabari as all good Fereldans do, but I have a kennel which cares for them.”

Lisette rested her head in her hands. “Then there is little else I can offer. He responds as you requested to the Theirin bloodline; I am only marginally able to direct him.” Lisette called to Sprocket several times, but the dog continued to act as though he slept by the fire, refusing to answer to his name.

A lean of Cailan’s head toward the sleeping dog caught Alistair’s attention. His brow creased and a sharp nod caused Alistair to wonder if Cailan wanted him to call the dog. He pointed to his chest and mouthed a single word. _Me_?

Cailan nodded, the smile widening on his face. Another pointed glare and directed bob of his head carried even greater weight.

 _Fine_ , Alistair thought, thinking to speak quietly to prove the clockwork creation wouldn’t respond. “Sprocket?”

The dog’s head shot up and the rhythmic thump of his metal tail on the stone floor pulled Lisette from her sadness. “That’s not possible. Stop this, now.”

Alistair ignored her warning and tried to calm Sprocket’s enthusiasm. “Hey buddy, be gentle. The castle is old and my brother there is a bit fond of his drafty old place, so maybe you might calm down a bit?”

Sprocket’s ear swiveled from side to side and the dog looked at Cailan and back at Alistair before joining him and resting his head on Alistair’s knee with a soft whine.

“Thank you, my friend.”

Cailan laughed and clapped like a small child seeing a wondrous toy for the first time. “Now do you believe me Alistair? Your friend there only responds to those of the Theirin bloodline. He was meant as a gift for father, but needed perfecting.” Cailan took Lisette’s hands in his. “My dear, it is a triumph and a wonder. Will it help us find our father?”

Lisette pulled free. “You would let _him_ look for the king?” The half sneer on her face proved hard to miss, and Alistair responded without thinking.

“Thanks a lot,” Alistair said from his chair. “It’s not my fault the dog responds to me, you know.”

After a few hushed words, Cailan asked Alistair to remain while he walked Lisette to the guest quarters.

Sprocket’s eyes glowed, and despite Alistair’s preference to leave innovation to the world at large, he felt almost sorry for the dog. “You could have picked Cailan, you know.” Sprocket lifted his head, ears swiveling. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Don’t pretend. I can tell you’re far smarter than even your _creator_ there knows.”

A growl emanated from the dog, but Alistair asked for caution. “So then Lisette is not your creator?”

 _Woof_. A single bark answered the question.

Alistair took the response as an affirmative. “The Professor? Was it the professor?” Alistair waited as Sprocket whined. “I must be mad, talking to a machine as though he understands what I am trying to say. You’re not real, as much as saying so may hurt.” Alistair groaned realizing he’d expressed concern over a machine’s feelings. “You couldn’t possibly feel hurt,” Alistair said aloud, “when you’ve never been alive.”  

Sprocket barked and hurried toward the opposite wall. A large framed painting of Maric and his four mabari hung on the wall. Sprocket rose on his hind legs and barked at the painting.

“Hey, quiet down,” Alistair said, crossing the room. “That’s Maric, apparently you know how to find him. He’s my father. Although I have to wonder what difference a mechanical dog could make when so many have searched and found nothing.” When Sprocket sat down again and stared at Alistair, he sighed. “If we find him,” Alistair nodded toward the painting, “I won’t have to worry about who I am. So what do you say?”

Cailan answered as he entered. “I think you should stop putting yourself down. You are a Theirin and my brother.” Cailan dropped onto the settee. “There are many like Lizzy who don’t understand, and for that I apologize. It was Loghain who talked father into shipping you off to the Wardens. He had to know the stigma attached.”

With a quick shrug of his shoulders Alistair leaned on Cailan’s desk. “I like being a Warden.”

Cailan stood and crossed to his desk, speaking as he walked. “I know you do, but our first obligation is to Ferelden and her people.”

Alistair laughed. “Not me, you.” He watched as Cailan sifted through the papers on his desk. Cailan had some system of organization that no one, other than Cailan himself, could comprehend. The thought of him finding anything when he needed it seemed impossible, and yet, Cailan lifted a folded paper and held it out.

“Us, Alistair. Together we will find father and bring him back.” He jostled the paper in his hands. “I should have insisted on this years ago, before father disappeared.”

With a raised eyebrow, Alistair accepted the offered sheet. “What is it?”

Alistair opened the folded sheet. Cailan’s handwriting covered the page with the Ferelden crest at the top.

 

_Be it known by all through these words and in this action that Alistair Calenhad Theirin is hereby pardoned and released from all obligations and servitude as a Grey Warden and is hereby named my successor._

The sprawling signature, despite its size revealed the author. _Cailan Theirin, Regent_

“No!” Alistair shouted, tossing the paper to Cailan’s desk. “You don’t get to decide when my service is complete. I _am_ a Warden.”

“The Guerrin’s have a copy as does Duncan, or he will before he leaves.” Cailan tried to smile. “Keep it. When you are ready that pardon is valid.” Cailan stared at Alistair a widening grin giving way to a laugh.

“Could you not grin like that,” Alistair protested, “it makes me think you are up to something.”  

“I have a gift for you, but in accepting said gift you will agree to certain conditions.” Cailan returned to his desk, gathering papers and folders into a single pile. “You will agree to take your metal friend there, and Lisette Cousland on this journey.”

“No thank you. She seems to despise me. In fact, I’d bet she’d happily see me executed for potential future crimes just to make Ferelden safe.” Alistair pulled on his shirt cuffs. “Let us not forget that she is completely enamored of you and will probably plunge a rather large and scary dagger into my back at the first available opportunity. Keep your gift, Cailan. I’ll pass.”

“Lizzy? Enamored of me?” Cailan sat back, his brows knit for a moment until realization widened his eyes. “You think,” a deep, rich laugh filled the room. “Alistair, Lizzy is a friend.” He paused, raising a single brow. “I worry for you though, now you’ve sworn to see to her safety. If you’ve already aggravated her into anger, this journey of yours will not be pleasant.”

Alistair held up his hands. “Oh no, I am not going anywhere, my responsibilities are here with Duncan.”

With a last look at his desk, Cailan moved to the door. “You will follow me.” Cailan beckoned to Alistair with his hand.

Reluctance carried Alistair forward, Sprocket followed.  Cailan’s jovial nature and slap on Alistair’s back did little to soothe his concerns.  “Is this going to hurt?”

Cailan scoffed. “Relax, dear brother. I believe you will be thanking me soon enough.”

 

l-l-l

Fascination and wonder were one thing, but the magnificence that floated toward them left Alistair speechless. Airships were a necessity for long travel, but most were practical, functional and ugly. The Ostagar was a clunky old lady with a yellowing dirigible that kept it afloat. She could travel by the power of the wind or by her engines. What held Alistair transfixed transcended anything he could have imagined.

“She is unrivaled, Alistair. I trust you will take great care of her.”

“Wow.” Alistair’s awe kept a tight hold on his ability to speak.

Reminiscent of the tall ships that once roamed the Waking Sea, the ship’s hull rose twice the height of the Ostagar, and the twin masts even higher into the sky. “Sails,” Alistair said, “she has sails like the old ships of the sea!” High above, Alistair was sure he could just make out a crow’s nest, and flying proudly above the lookout the house crest of the Theirin line and all Ferelden.

Cailan gave Alistair a hearty side hug and laughed. “Isn’t she perfect?”

The twin turbines rested outside the ship, and Alistair had to inquire about the engine room. “How does it run?”

Answering with a shrug, he explained he’d merely approved the plans. “I have no idea, some mechanical thing that makes the engines spin or some such. It’s in something called the forecastle?”

Cailan pronounced the location in two words fore-castle. The area lay beneath the deck at the bow of the ship. “Say it mashed together like _folk-sl_ ,” Alistair corrected, still staring at the gold adornments comprising the ship’s prow. A series of interlocking golden waves culminated in a sharpened point. _Cailan’s golden sword_ , Alistair thought.

Another hug and a laugh jostled Alistair as Cailan stepped away inhaling deep and posing with pride. “I knew you’d understand all that nonsense. Come take a look at her name!” Alistair followed Cailan to the rudder, and high above in towering golden letters, Alistair read the ship’s name aloud.

“ _Hero of Ferelden_?” Alistair coughed, covering his laugh. “Subtle. Why not just _He Who Would Be King_?”

The airship was magnificent and definitely was not to Alistair’s tastes. Cailan clasped Alistair’s shoulder “It wouldn’t fit. I had to settle for something smaller.”

A side glance toward his brother met with a raised brow. “Subtle, Cailan. And where are you while I take command of your ship?”

“I’ll admit, I’d every intention of keeping this airship, but I believe she would serve you far better. I will admit I have little knowledge on how these contraptions work.” A rough clap on Alistair’s back nearly forced him forward. “Duncan has insisted that I travel under his protection on the Ostagar. You will take Lizzie with you and-”

“Now hold on,” Alistair started, “you can take the Lady with _you_ , she knows how the Ostagar works and you’ll need her skills if her engines need care.”

Alistair’s attempts to explain his reasoning met with Cailan’s amusement. “You’ll get used to Lizzy. She can be harsh, but the Cousland family is loyal.”

“Such as it is,” Alistair muttered. The thought of the Professor’s death seemed to have slipped Cailan’s mind, but then this was Cailan. He never dwelled long on emotions or situations, regret and reflection never entered his mind. Whenever adversity confronted him, his attention shifted elsewhere. Alistair couldn’t forget. The meticulous dissection of every word, every action looking for mistakes consumed his thoughts. It was in these moments he envied Cailan and pitied him.

 

l-l-l

 

Alistair wandered the halls after leaving Cailan; he waited for Duncan’s return. _I’m surprised Duncan agreed to Cailan’s plans,_ he thought, _it’s far too dangerous outside the city_. Alistair paused in a long hall, resting his hand against the cold stone wall. The grainy texture beneath his fingertips pointed out imperfections, a reminder of a time long before the machines and mechanical wonders.

He’d read all the history books, the accounts of all the Blights and the Wardens. In his younger years these tales of grotesque dragons of sinew and bone kept him awake long into the night. The Old Gods no longer posed a threat to Thedas; the final of their number vanquished in the Resolute Age. The decline of the Grey Wardens began with the death of the last Archdemon.

 _And thanks to Cailan, I am no longer a Warden_. Alistair sighed. Cailan couldn’t understand what the Wardens meant to Alistair; he’d had a family. Alistair’s mother disappeared not long after his birth and none claimed to know her identity. Maric shoved him into obscurity to protect Cailan, leaving Alistair’s upbringing to the Wardens. Alistair had to stop his reflection before it turned him toward a renewed resentment toward the notion of being a Theirin.

Hours passed before Alistair could speak with Duncan. He’d found Duncan in the library sitting alone in an alcove. “Duncan? Are you unwell?”

“Lost in thought, my friend. Sit.”

Alistair couldn’t sit still and launched into his concerns. The journey to find Maric, Cailan’s insistence on accompanying them. Once he started Alistair continued until every thought that had plagued his mind since arriving in Denerim fell from his lips.

“Your concerns are quite valid and understandable but I’m afraid it matters little. We must find Maric and if Cailan insists on traveling, he is Regent. I cannot deny his request.”

Heaviness pulled Alistair’s body to sit on the stone bench. “Then we have no choice.”

Duncan’s soft and reassuring smile had the opposite effect on Alistair and his parting words only solidified his concerns. “None. Be vigilant, watch over the Lady and your men.”

 

l-l-l

The increased cloud cover and heavy humidity would hinder the Ostagar, but the Hero climbed high into the clouds with little difficulty. Lisette took the helm instructing several on the gentle hands needed to steer the newer ship.

They waited for the Ostagar, Alistair still unconvinced Cailan’s presence on board the Wardens’ ship made sense. He scanned the cloud cover for the Siren’s Command. Despite Cailan’s assurances, Alistair didn’t trust Isabela or her fleet. _Remember dear brother, light the beacon and the Raiders will come._

Frustration and uncertainty had shifted Alistair’s focus. Without bothering with his Warden uniform, he stood atop the railing holding onto the rigging. He couldn’t dismiss the pervasive darkening thoughts consuming him.

“Warden, it’s not safe,” one deckhand said, “if you insist, then please, take my harness.”

Alistair peered over his shoulder to see the man holding up his safety harness. On the sea, a fall overboard carried a chance of survival, but in the skies? Such a tragedy carried a finality to one’s life. As such, most deckhands wore a harness of leather strops and buckles to keep them safe once tethered. It made sail repairs and other unforeseen circumstances far less deadly. “You’re right. I should know better,” Alistair said, stepping down to the deck and clasping the man on his shoulder. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Of course, Ser.” The deckhand pointed to Alistair’s hands. “Your gloves Ser. If you’re going to be on deck, you should wear them. Tempt not fate, Warden.”

 _Tempt not fate_ , Alistair thought, _I won’t if I can help it._ Alistair shook his thoughts away searching the deck for Sprocket. “He was right behind me, where did he run off to?”

The rapid clanging of a ship’s bell announced the emergency fire call through the ship, but Alistair neither saw nor smelled any evidence of fire. Controlled chaos sent all hands to search the ship, but the signal bell on the Hero rang return all to their stations. Taking the stairs toward the helm, the unknown bell rang again.

“Ser, there!” Alistair followed the deck hands directed gesture. Off to the starboard dark tendrils rose through the pristine white clouds.

“Descend now!” Alistair commanded, his head and heart tightening as he peered over the railing. The Ostagar had not joined them. Despite her age and engines, she should have arrived some time ago. The fire call was not imagined by him or the crew; they’d heard it. Sprocket’s hollow bark cut through Alistair, even the clockwork dog sounded his own alarm. 

Alistair turned to face Lisette, her frightened expression revealed she shared his thoughts.  “The Ostagar burns!” Alistair directed the signal officer to call for an evacuation emergency.

“Ser?”

“Do it!” Orders passed through the line, confusion stalled them at first, but when the men learned the Regent traveled aboard the Ostagar, they gathered gear, ropes, and prepared. “She’d got eight anchoring points, as soon as we’re there, get us tethered and prepare.”

As the airship descended into the clouds, Alistair saw her. Thick black smoke poured from the windows in the hold, men rushed back and forth, battling each blaze as best they could, but the fires burned both above and below. “Get us as close as you dare!”

A silent prayer steeled him and when he opened his eyes, a deckhand handed him his gloves and harness. He would save Cailan and Duncan or die trying.


	5. When Time Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair must cope with the aftermath of the Ostagar and while visiting Redcliffe meets the latest addition to their party.

Acrid, black smoke flowed from every possible escape point on the Ostagar, stinging Alistair’s eyes and burning his nose and throat as he breathed. A hacking cough made speaking even more difficult, but until he delivered Cailan safe aboard his ship, Alistair refused to budge. There wasn’t time to find a suitable harness for Cailan. Without pause, Alistair removed his handing it to his brother.

“Step in those loops and put your arms through,” Alistair said, coughing. He lifted a strop with the metal hook. “Clip this to the tie rope and hold the rope as loose as you can as you fall. You will be caught when you reach the other deck.”

Cailan waved Alistair’s instructions away. “Not until the men are all safe.”

Frustration reddened Alistair’s face more than the fire and smoke, forcing his hand. “Go, or I’ll carry you to the escape lines.” His conviction pointed his arm toward the evacuating men. “Now, Cailan!”  He instructed two men to escort the Regent, and returned to Duncan. 

Alistair witnessed Duncan’s struggle to hold the Ostagar’s position. “Alistair, do not wait for me, protect Cailan. This was no accident. We have traitors aboard the Ostagar.”

Racing closer, Alistair demanded more information. “They could be on Cailan’s ship, too. We’re almost done, you need to come with me, so we can find those responsible.”

Duncan nodded once and sent Alistair to watch over Cailan. The Ostagar lurched and dipped, forcing Alistair to take a wide stance to balance on the deck. “We will lose her,” Alistair said, “What a shame, she’s-”

A steady stream of shouting and calls for aid broke Alistair free of his homage to the ship that had carried him for so long. He arrived at the escape lines to find chaos. Cailan lay on the deck, his hands slick with blood. Another man struggled against the arms that held him.

Alistair could see by the wounds on Cailan’s dark clothing, he’d been stabbed several times.  The dark stain of blood flow on the deck revealed the horrid truth. Cailan’s wounds would take him soon. Steadying his voice and feigning a smile Alistair helped his brother to sit up. “I thought I told you to go.”

A wet cough left a thin coating of blood on Cailan’s lips. “I never took orders well from anyone.”  He tried to laugh and grimaced. “Will you honor my last decree as your Regent, dear brother? Get off this ship and find our father.”

Unsure if he could carry his brother and still maintain his hold on the line, Alistair had to think quickly as the Ostagar descended. “Tie that man’s hands and send him over in between your own descent.” The three deck hands nodded and did as instructed. As the third man climbed over the edge, Alistair instructed him to hold the traitor on deck. 

Duncan joined him. “Alistair, we’re out of time, you must go. I will stay with Cailan.”

Alistair argued. “Stay? Did you say stay? No, we’re going before she falls too low.” Alistair pivoted toward Cailan. His eyes remained fixed and open, and the hand that had gripped his side wound had fallen aside. Shaking his brother, Alistair tried tapping Cailan’s cheek, asking him to open his eyes. A hand touched his shoulder and Alistair swatted it away before placing his hand flush against Cailan’s chest. “I don’t. . .he’s not breathing.” Alistair’s voice shook as he asked for help.

“He is gone, Alistair. Ferelden falls to your care, lead her well.” Duncan’s quiet serenity added finality to what Alistair feared. 

His breath caught; the realization of Cailan’s death crushed the resolve that had kept him moving. “Oh, Cailan,” Alistair sighed as he spoke. “It’s my fault, I should have-”

Duncan gripped Alistair’s shoulder. “Go to Redcliffe, you are expected. Maker watch over you.”  With a strength Alistair had not experienced, Duncan guided Alistair to the escape lines. “Go, my friend. I will cut all the lines but yours. Sever it when you reach the deck.”

He couldn’t believe Duncan would remain behind. “But, why?”

Placing both of his hands on Alistair’s shoulders, Duncan smiled for a moment. “I remain in service, and I will see your brother to the Maker’s side. You’ve a chance now, my young friend. Do right with all you have learned. Here,” Duncan concluded his speech handing Alistair his gloves.

With a single nod, Alistair hurried to the line, knowing full well he risked his own death without a safety rig. _There’s no time_ , he thought.

The first explosion tore the Ostagar in two; Alistair had little choice than to hold the rope tight. The other lines swung near him as they were severed from the Ostagar, leaving a single lifeline and Alistair holding fast. The rope slackened, and without hesitation, Alistair wound the slack around his waist and arm. Despite the growing fear, he understood. _I have to cut loose now and hope I don’t fall or crash into the hull._

Below him, voices shouted for Alistair to cut free of the Ostagar but cutting himself free at this point would cause a fatal injury. What Alistair needed most he couldn’t communicate from his precarious hold on the tie line. If the Hero ascended higher than his position on the Ostagar, it might prevent him from smashing into the Hero’s hull.

A warm updraft caught Alistair’s attention, high in the clouds, the air was cool and clean; the blast of air enveloped him again confirming the Hero understood his plight. _Or whoever is piloting her more like it_ , Alistair thought _. I have to time this right_. The small push blade sheath on his belt might not cut the rope fast enough, at least he’d never found a reason to use it before. _It’ll have to do._

Clouds parted nearby, the Theirin crest and crows nest of the Hero grabbed Alistair’s attention. The rest of the massive ship bobbed up through the thick clouds, pulling Alistair toward it, until the rope line groaned from the effort. A lone shout from behind him fell short; Alistair could not make out the words of warning, but when the rope line snapped behind him he realized Duncan had cut him free.

As feared, the quick release and momentum of his swing hurled Alistair toward the hulking airship. “This will really hurt,” he said. Closing his eyes, Alistair braced for the impact.

Waiting for the inevitable pain seemed to last far longer than Alistair expected; it took a few more seconds to realize he had escaped injury and his tethered line slowly inched up toward the railing.

A cacophony of sound above him did not register until a lone voice cried out. “Maker’s Blood, Alistair! Are you alive, or aren’t you?” Lisette’s annoyance rang through every word.

The snarky reply forming in his head stepped aside in favor of a simplistic nod. He would deal with Cailan’s murderer once he could stand tall, but first Alistair needed to be hauled in. Bravery in the grip of safety lines and precautions was easy; Alistair had no reassurances to his survival once his boots gripped the deck he could breathe and take action.

Slow movements brought Alistair closer to safety and the railing, both hands gripping the rope with such strength Alistair’s fingers numbed with the effort. He fought to keep his breathing even, realizing the crew would take their cues from him.

Lisette’s calls to him went unanswered in favor of concentration, but she refused to wait. “Alistair!”   

“A little busy,” the rope slipped; Alistair gripped it even tighter. He grunted, a mix of concern, effort and fear of falling.

“Sorry Ser!” One deckhand peered over the edge, meeting Alistair’s concerned expression. “My lady! The Warden has no harness!”

The admission called more men to assist and within a few more tugs, Alistair climbed over the rail. Questions hurled at him from all directions, but Alistair couldn’t listen. Ignoring all, he turned to search the clouds for the Ostagar.

“She’s gone, Ser.” The man next to him said. “We watched her listing to port before she sunk beneath the canopy.”

His hand tightened into a fist, eyes closed for a moment. _I failed him_ , he thought, _I should have been harsher, I should have forced Cailan off the bloody ship._ Without facing the deckhand, Alistair’s somber voice issued the order. “Then sound the bells, the Regent is dead.”

Listening to the slow ring of eight bells, Alistair waved off Lisette and several others who asked after him. Discarding the gloves he wore, Alistair stared at the dried blood on his hands, and recognizing it as Cailan’s rather than his own, unsettled him.

It wasn’t right. Cailan was the better suited of the two. Alistair had ordered the traitor bound and held under guard until they reached Redcliffe. The Arl would deal with the man. Alistair avoided the truth, he’d dismissed Lisette’s concern and retired to the captain’s quarters citing the need to rest, but the churning guilt in his head had soured his stomach and poisoned his thoughts and with it all possibility of rest.

What disturbed Alistair more was the numbness of feeling. Duncan and Cailan were gone and yet Alistair could not cry or react at all, leaving him to wonder if he had a heart at all.

In the room’s silence, Alistair could hear Sprocket’s internal workings as he approached. A soft hiss accompanied each step, the pistons in his legs driving the dog step by step toward Alistair, but it was a rhythmic tick that caught Alistair’s attention the most. _Almost like a heartbeat_ , he thought. Sprocket rested his head on Alistair’s knee, with a soft keening sound emanating from deep within him.

“Don’t tell me you understand what’s happened. It’s not possible.”

Sprocket sat up, the growl from his chest lasted a moment.

Alistair’s eyes widened. “You do, don’t you? What are you, I wonder.” The notion that a collection of metal cogs and springs could move without winding baffled him, but Sprocket understood conversation and could formulate responses. “Surely, it’s a trick, a series of normal responses somehow built into his design. I suppose there will come a time when you will growl at praise and nuzzle at anger, proving me right.”

A deckhand called to Alistair through the door, alerting him to their arrival at Redcliffe. Arl Eamon was the fourth Arl to bear the name, although unlike the others, he dismissed the usage of the fourth designation, far more relaxed in his dealings with the Theirin line and Ferelden’s rule. Alistair expected little opposition from Eamon, having spent their childhood years in Redcliffe, despite the ten year age difference. Eamon had no desire to move deeper into Ferelden politics, making him a logical choice to oversee Ferelden’s dealings.

Lisette waited at the gangplank, her hands clasped in front of her. Alistair tossed a glance toward her walking across the deck, but when he joined her said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the airship dock and the effort it took to secure the Hero.

Lisette stepped closer, opening her mouth to speak; she shook away the thought and stepped back.

“I’m . . .fine,” he offered, guessing her reticence tied to Cailan’s death.

She nodded once. “I. . .he was a friend, too, but if you need-”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, cutting off her awkward offer. “What I need is more information from Eamon and an idea what that metal thing is that your mother entrusted to me. If it’s true that my . . .that King Maric is out there somewhere, we must find him.”

A tentative hand reached toward him. “Alistair, it’s all right to-”

Unwilling to talk about the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions weighing on him, Alistair interrupted, his annoyance bleeding into his tone. “I _said_ I was _fine_.”

For a moment, he regretted snapping at her, until she met his annoyance with her own. “Then keep your visit short and don’t get distracted; our purpose is more important than before.”

He didn’t appreciate her direction, and while they waited for the walkway extension to reach them, Alistair snapped. “Of course, my lady,” he said with a bow. “Maker forbid you be forced to suffer a bastard and usurper take the place of Cailan.” He stared out over the walkway, unwilling to look at her. “Or maybe you think I had something to do with this? Is that it? Why be content to be a Warden after being pardoned? Why not take the whole bloody country for my own? Am I close?”

Lisette protested, assuring him of the best intentions.

The metal clunk of the walkway against the hull signaled a secure fit. Rather than wait, Alistair hopped the railing and called over his shoulder. “Shall I turn myself in then? Excellent, I’ll be on my way.”

l-l-l

Redcliffe castle hadn’t changed. Dark and drafty, Alistair remembered the best hiding spaces from his youth. The library sat empty except for a few tables and a towering fireplace. There were two rooms he used to disappear into years ago, and both still functioned as spare rooms for unannounced visitors. Tucked away from sympathy laden guests to well-meaning attendants, the small room granted Alistair what he craved most-solitude.

He rested on the small bed, long legs hanging off the footboard. He inhaled the musty air and coughed from the dust.

Quieted footsteps alerted Alistair to someone’s approach, and he quickly shut his eyes, hoping the ruse would send the person away, not willing to disturb his rest.

The deep cough at the doorway carried a familiarity to it, but when the man spoke, Alistair recognized Eamon’s rich voice. “You’re making me look like a heel, Al. What are you doing here?”

Alistair shook his head. “Eamon don’t call me Al, please.”

“Very well, _Your Grace_.” Eamon grinned.

“Don’t start.” Alistair sat up, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t want to face the possibility, not until it proved necessary. “I need your help, not your teasing right now.”

Eamon had been the one to talk Alistair out of joining the Templars and arranged for him to learn how to pilot an airship when he was fifteen. Alistair had always suspected his opportunities arrived through Maric, but Eamon’s ease of friendship and willing ear to listen had given Alistair a sense of family.  “Come on, before my father gets wind of you down here, he’s old but can still make life difficult-for the both of us.”

Eamon glanced toward Alistair several times as he led him toward one of the larger guest rooms. They’d paid their respects to the elder Eamon and continued through the long hall.

After repeated glances, a nervous laugh stopped their procession. “Eamon stop it. I’m fine, really,” Alistair said. “All right, maybe it hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but this constant scrutiny and sideways glances from everyone we pass needs to stop.”

Eamon shifted to stand in front of Alistair, his hand rested on Alistair’s shoulders. “I won’t say I understand, because I don’t, but you are the Regent now.”

He shrugged free. “I don’t want to be.” His heart thudded against his ribs, and a tight band of uncertainty pounded from his neck to his temples. “I’m too young,” he complained, “you should take my place.”

Kindness and sympathy smiled at Alistair. “I’m not a Theirin, my friend.”

“I don’t know what that means-being a Theirin.”

“It means, this is where life gets complicated,” Eamon offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll arrange for you to meet Morrigan, she knows far more about Bryce Cousland’s little project, if you truly plan to search for the king, you will need her help.”

Alistair’s brow raised. “Who is she?”

“Lady Cousland is well acquainted, as was your father. Morrigan is. . .perhaps it's best for you to draw your own conclusions.” He led Alistair in silence to one room and suggested a proper rest. “The Lady Cousland will no doubt collect you when they are ready.”

 After taking three steps inside the room, Alistair shivered. “This isn’t me, Eamon.”

“It’s just a room, Alistair, but in a larger sense, you should get used to it, Your Grace.”

A forced half-grin and nod of acknowledgement seemed sufficient enough. “What happens next?”

“I wish I knew, but this was your home once, and if Redcliffe can set your heart lighter for a short while, then you have only to ask.” Eamon started to retreat from the room. “I’ll send along something to eat. Rest for now.”

The door latch clicked in place, leaving Alistair alone once more. _He’d always accepted me, and never once passed judgement_ , Alistair thought. A heavy sigh carried Alistair toward the bed. Rest was needed, depending on when Lisette Cousland decided to fetch him, he’d benefit from a little sleep. Not bothering to undress, Alistair shifted until he could comfortably stretch out on the mattress, rested his head on a pillow and closed his eyes, ushering him into a fitful sleep.

 _Torches burned on every wall, enticing shadows to dance against the stones. Alistair wandered the halls of Redcliffe castle, wondering why Eamon would bother with torches when the castle could be lit from the mill powered generators._  
  
_Stranger still, the absence of the usual stream of attendants and visitors left Alistair with a growing sense of unease. A young boy of four or five giggled as he ran around the corner, flattening his back against the wall, holding in his laughter with both hands atop his mouth._

_From his vantage point, Alistair waited to see what would happen next._

_The boy peered around the corner several times before hurrying down the hall away from him._

_“I remember this,” Alistair said aloud. “The blackout, when I was young. The torches stayed lit for days until the turbines were repaired.” He recalled the game of hide and seek with Eamon to pass the time. The problem was, they’d angered Eamon’s father and been sent to their rooms for the night once caught._

_Turning his attention to the shadows at the end of the hall, Alistair’s memory filled in the chase. At fifteen, Eamon towered over Alistair, a height difference that shifted with time._

_The young man turned the wrong way and stopped before him, regarding him with a look of familiarity. “Father said to tell you no more games. I’m sorry.”_

_Surprised his memory spoke directly, Alistair asked what Eamon meant._

_“It’s time to grow up.”_

_The air shimmered next to Alistair, suddenly aware of Cailan standing next to him. “He’s right, you know,” Cailan said. “I’m so sorry, brother. We could have done so much.”_

_Alistair faced Cailan, a wave of sadness overtaking him. “Cailan, I-”_

_“You’ll be all right,” Cailan said, the half grin spreading across his face until his eyes creased. “You were always the clever one.” Cailan shrugged. “It’s not what I’d expected you know. Whatever this is.”_

_“It’s a dream, my dream,” Alistair explained._

_Cailan eyes examined the room. “That would explain a lot. Well, if this is a dream, then you best wake up, before Lizzy finds you napping. She’s a bit scary when she’s angry which, if I’m to be honest, is her natural state. Good luck, not that you’ll need it. Then again, you never know.”_

 Alistair’s awareness sharpened as he opened his eyes, rubbing the images of his dream away with hands against his face.

He sat up, startled at the presence of Lisette sitting at a side table.

“I wasn’t aware I’d invited you in, Lady Cousland.”

She sat with her hands folded in her lap. “Eamon was worried, when I arrived, you didn’t answer, and I let myself in.” She did not meet his eyes. “I feared that if left alone, you might be in danger.”   

He stopped, slightly shocked at her apparent concern. “I should thank you then?”

Lisette shook her head. “No, but if you’re up to it, Morrigan is ready to see us.”

An absent scratch of his chin and disbelieving stare was Alistair’s sole means of challenge. “See,” he paused, the question raising his brows in concern as he finished his inquiry, “see us?”

Lisette explained Morrigan had given them the critical piece needed for their research and now she would use her magic and skills to help them in their endeavor-if she felt Alistair up to the task.

“So, a mage decides my worth and if I am prepared to find the king?”  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not all right with being judged, thank you. We don’t need her.”

Lisette disagreed. “We could and most likely will need her. She’s rather brusque and not great with people, but it’s her magic we need, not her conversational skills.” Reluctantly, Alistair agreed, following Lisette down the stairwells to the dungeons. “These were converted to laboratories years ago, and Morrigan prefers the solitude.”

When they reached a large wooden door, Alistair knocked and waited.  
  
“Enter and be quick about it, I’m in no mood!”

 _Wonderful_ , he thought, _just what I need now, a mage with an attitude._

He opened the door and waited, unsure if a protocol existed in speaking with mages or if he should allow her to speak first. After minutes of silence, Alistair addressed her.

“Morrigan, is it?” Alistair stood in the door of the alchemy lab, wondering why the Arl allowed the mage to use the dungeon at all. Her exasperated sigh and a slight grumble didn’t sit well against Alistair’s skin, his neck prickled in response.

“So, you’re the new Regent. How wonderful for you. What do you want?” A small lizard-like creature climbed over the woman’s shoulder and sat facing Alistair. Bright yellow scales covered its body, except for the underside in a paler hue. Its eyes glowed a golden light, dark pupils transfixed on Alistair. The creature shifted from foot to foot as if sizing up an enemy or studying its prey. When it stretched; thin membraned wings with sharp talons flapped twice before resuming a cautious stance.

 _That looks like a dragon,_ Alistair thought _, but the dragons are extinct and have been for ages!_ His eyes focused on the woman, jet black hair piled atop her head fell in loose locks on her bare shoulders. Her leather vest tinted in violet and a black leather skirt more commonly seen in mage circles seemed out of place in a noble’s home. “Is that. . .is that a _real_ dragon?”

The creature opened its mouth and hissed at him, forcing Alistair to step back in caution.

“Of course, it’s not a _real_ dragon!” Morrigan turned and spoke to Lisette. “I have to disagree, my lady, he is not very bright. ‘Tis a sad day for Ferelden, indeed, the Regent felled by traitorous foes and we are left with a simpleton to lead,” she said, releasing another long sigh.  “You most certainly will have my help, Lady Cousland, otherwise this quest is doomed before it even begins.”


	6. The Path is Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair seeks Eamon's help in Redcliffe. When a quest is revealed, Eamon sends Alistair to Kinloch Hold to ask for help. When Alistair learns the Tower is besieged by an unknown force, he decides to offer aid instead and his actions secure another ally to his cause.

The amused look on Eamon’s face added to Alistair’s frustration. “You can tuck that smile of yours away. I’m not enjoying this.” The long rug underneath Alistair’s feet bunched and slid as he paced; Alistair kicked it out of his way rather than sit down.  “I can’t travel with her and that. . .that. . . dragon wearing mage,” he said gesturing to the near empty library. “ _Lady Cousland_ is sure that my blade took Cailan’s life.”

“That’s not true, Alistair.”

“Oh, it’s not true?” He crossed his arms, glaring at Eamon. “Have you tried asking her? The mere mention of my name elicits spitting and plumes of smoke to pour from her ears.” His melodramatic gestures and volume increased as he talked. “Oho! There he is!” Alistair pointed into dead air. “ _He_ planned all of this!”

“Alistair, really.”

“Say what you will, Cailan deserved better. I tried to save him. You must believe me Eamon, I wanted no part of Ferelden, and never have.”

“You’ve nothing to prove, but the facts remain unchanged; you are Ferelden’s Regent and if Maric is not found in one year’s time, then you must assume Maric’s place and rule.”

The revelation caught in Alistair’s throat and he coughed. “A year? Why a year? It’s been almost five years, why wasn’t Cailan forced to take Maric’s place?”

Eamon dug into his vest pocket and pulled out folded papers. “I should be more careful with royal communications, but seeing as the Theirins like to write as much as they talk, I could line a room with all I’ve received.  With a light toss, two pages landed on the table. “The first, is your pardon. Cailan sent me five copies,” Eamon said. “Perhaps in case I lost one?”

Alistair shrugged, Cailan’s reasons never quite made sense. “And the other?”

“Read it.”

Glare firmly fixed on Eamon, Alistair snatched the paper from the table. He turned and mumbled through the document’s contents aloud. “Be it known. . .event of my. . .I hereby name,” Alistair’s eyes widened. “You’re joking,” he said with a scoff. Alistair turned the paper over several times. “Tell me this is one of your pranks, Eamon.”

Eamon shook his head and replied with a pointed delivery. “No, this is quite serious. It’s all there.”

_I hereby name Alistair Calenhad Theirin as my successor, Cailan Theirin will serve as regent until such time as Alistair reaches the age of twenty-one._

Alistair read the sentence three times. “I don’t understand! Cailan was the elder and Maric’s true son. I’m just some bastard kid he had the misfortune to create.” Alistair stared again at the words on the page, disbelieving.

“That bastard kid is about to step into some very deep muck. I can help you, as will others, but Alistair- play time is over.”

The words carefully written in Maric’s hand bound Alistair’s attention to the page. Choosing him over Cailan made little sense. “The people will probably revolt, you know,” Alistair said with a shake of his head, “and what of the Wardens?”   

Eamon said nothing, walking toward a portrait of Arl Eamon Guerrin dated in the Dragon Age and pulled on the frame. Behind it, a large metal safe sat recessed in the wall. “There’s something more I must tell you, but first a question.” Eamon talked as he worked on the first of three dials on the safe. “Did the Professor give you a small metal rod? It’s likely tarnished a bit, would look black to your eyes, but the metal never warms–even when you hold it?”

Alistair’s hand slipped into the side pocket of his trousers. “Yes, what is it for?”

Eamon took several steps back carrying a small black box in his hands. “I wish I knew. One of Maric and Bryce Cousland’s little secret projects. There are four,” Eamon said, “combined with the rod they make, well, something.”

“How incredibly helpful, thank you Eamon, I’ve always wanted a _something_ ,” Alistair snark elicited a light laugh from Eamon as he closed the safe and returned the portrait to its original position.

“You’re more like Maric than you realize, but use caution. Not all will be as accepting of your sarcastic wit. You’ve quite the journey ahead, time to brush up on your diplomatic skills.” Eamon placed the box on the table. The polished black finish appeared seamless at first, but Eamon slid the top up and removed a curve half ring of metal. “Here, you’ll need this.”

Alistair turned the metal piece over in his hand. The sides and edges were smooth with a small bevel on one side. “So, this metal. . .thing goes with this,” Alistair took the rod from his pocket, “other metal thing and then what?”

“You and your selective hearing, I said I didn’t know.” Eamon sighed and returned to his seat. “Alistair, this is serious. You must go to Kinloch Tower next.” He slid a small, thin metal card onto the table.

Alistair ran his thumb against the object; it was hand tempered and hammered, with a message engraved on one side.

_Seek the Heart of Kinloch Tower. Choose not one._

Turning the metal plate in his hand Alistair groaned. “Yes, because _choosing_ is bad. Thank you, lovely metal card thing.”

Eamon laughed into his fist, coughing to cover his reaction.

“What?!”

A short wave dismissed Alistair’s question. “Nothing. You must take my boat, they forbid airships at the tower, it’s a fair day’s journey from Redcliffe. Kinloch knows of your arrival tomorrow and they will meet you at their dock. Rest and leave at first light.”

"So, you sent word even before I agreed?”  Alistair shook his head.

Once more, Eamon stood before Alistair; a firm, supportive grip on Alistair’s shoulder sought to put him at ease. “These tasks are connected, and forgive me, but I would see you succeed.” Eamon sighed. “You might tease me about my sentimentality, Alistair, but you are family in my eyes.”

“Is this where we get all weepy?” A wide grin and playful shove against Eamon’s shoulder set both men to laughing. “Thank you, my friend.”

Alistair had never been to the Tower, home to the cloistered Templar Order of Ferelden and a private academy for those who could use magic. He’d considered joining the Order, but Eamon had intervened, preventing the move.  Thanking Eamon for his help, Alistair returned to his room.

Before Alistair reached the door, Eamon called out to him. “To respond to a much earlier comment of yours, you will most certainly travel with Lady Cousland and the dragon wearing mage. You _need_ allies!”

 

l-l-l

 

The most peculiar noise woke Alistair; eyes still closed, even in his muddled awareness a low thrumming and an alternating hiss and clicking carried him from sleep into waking. Opening his eyes, Alistair blinked a few times, almost sure a yellowish lump sat on his chest. When he tried to sit up, a loud and menacing hiss shook his mind into full awareness and in a sweeping motion he cleared the object from his chest.

A woman’s rich voice shouted a warning at him and called for help. “Mother!”

 _Mother?_ Alistair wondered how Eamon allowed just anyone to wander about Redcliffe. Willing his eyes to focus, he realized the woman standing in the doorway of his room was Morrigan, and she consoled a small yellow dragon in her hands, cooing to it softly.

“You frightened Mother. Regent or no, ‘tis considered rude to damage another’s construct. Mother is unique, and you nearly destroyed her!”

Alistair shook his head. “The dragon’s _name_ is _Mother_? Oh, you can’t be serious, you must be mad.”

“It seems the Lady Cousland was right, you lack imagination.”

A foul mood grew the longer Morrigan talked. “Is this a normal thing for you? Whatever rock you slithered out from under somehow gives you the right to enter my room with that _thing_ to threaten me?” _Eamon was right, I need allies, and this Morrigan is no ally._

She scoffed, the indignation and dislike radiated from her even before she responded. “Listen well. When I threaten, you will know,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You would do well to remember our destination. You will need a mage to enter the tower. Unless you seek to convince the Templars to see things from your view.” She continued. “The Templars are nothing more than religious zealots more content to exist in a lyrium induced haze then aid anyone regardless of a just cause.”

“No one asked for your help.” Alistair would have a difficult time working with Lisette, he didn’t need the added aggravation of Morrigan’s sharp tongue.

“Pity then, as both Lady Cousland and the Arl’s son have enlisted my help.” Morrigan turned on her heel and spoke her parting words over her shoulder. “Best hurry, you’ve already wasted enough time this morning.”

He glared at her back, slamming the room door shut. Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, knowing he’d have to push aside his personal feelings. He’d promised to look for Maric and now Eamon and his little black boxes and strange metal pieces were added to an already impossible task. Despite his strong dislike of Lisette Cousland and her mage friend, he realized without help both tasks would fail.

“I don’t want to rule anything,” he said to the empty room, “finding Maric is more important.”

Alistair stepped in front of a large standing mirror, painfully aware of the wrinkled state of his clothes. He’d slept without changing, which given Morrigan’s disregard for the closed door, ended up a blessing. A quick search of the armoire against the wall revealed suitable clothing and a note alerting Alistair to a small selection of additional attire stored onboard his airship.

 

l-l-l

The docks in Redcliffe were reserved for private use; a natural undercroft had given the Guerrin family the perfect location for privacy and escape in times of war. Alistair and Eamon had tried to fish off one pier when they were younger until someone told them it was a useless endeavor. The rock formations around Redcliffe had killed off the fish in the lake, something about the mineral composition.

Descending the stairs, Alistair huffed at the sudden increase in humidity. Traveling in the skies above the clouds, one acclimated to the thinner air and constant chill. The moisture at the docks clung to his skin and with each breath the air seemed thick and heavy.

Eamon waited on the dock, waving Alistair toward him. “You’ll be met dockside at the tower. Remember _Your Grace_ , diplomacy and discretion.” He turned toward Alistair dropping his voice to a whisper. “Either the Templars or Mages hold the next box, do what you must, but do not leave without the next piece.”

 “Right,” Alistair replied, “next piece.” A long drawn-out sigh from Eamon compelled Alistair to amend his response. “Eamon, I’ll get it, but see if your father can remember what waits at the end of this treasure hunt.”

A quick nod and promise to try preceded another warning to keep civil in the tower.   

 

l-l-l

The slow trek across Lake Calenhad to Kinloch hold afforded Alistair time for contemplation, Sprocket rested his head on Alistair’s leg; its occasional whine or huff a way to keep him from delving too deep.

The trip across the lake would take nearly the entire day, but Lisette’s tinkering with the boat’s motor had stalled their progress. When they’d left the dock, the boat had moved slowly, but proved reliable enough. Lisette complained after three hours of what Alistair saw as acceptable progress. When she pulled a small black satchel from under her seat, Alistair requested patience.

“You know what your problem is, of course.” Lisette said, digging through the bag, placing a few tools near her.

Alistair didn’t want to argue, he needed to present a proper image when they arrived at Kinloch, but his growing aggravation answered before he could stop. “No, I’m sure I’m not the one with the problem, but please, go right ahead and tell me what more _I_ am doing wrong.”

She turned on her knee, wrench in hand. “You lack vision, Alistair. You’re simply content to take whatever anyone puts in front of you,” she said. “This is where you differ from Cailan, he never settled, Cailan gave orders, he didn’t take them. You should be a leader like him.”

Alistair tried to remain silent, but having his fill of her comparisons and assessments, Alistair tempered his words as best he could. “Cailan is dead. He leads no one and thank you _so very much_ for opening that wound once more. Whatever will I do without you to remind me of my brother’s fate?” He shifted away from her gripping his neck with both hands.

Lisette mumbled something resembling an apology and went to work on the engine. To do so, she had to stop their progress.  “Please . . . leave it alone.” His patience neared an end. The clanging of tools and her insistence it would only take a moment more stretched into an hour, and then another.  They were stuck halfway between Redcliffe and Kinloch with no way to contact either destination for help.

The long boat drifted sideways. Between the growing tension at the base of his neck and the ever-growing collection of parts, Alistair had used up the last of his politeness. “Send the dragon with a note for help,” he said with conviction.

Morrigan refused. “Mother isn’t capable of a long flight, she’d drown.”

“Wonderful,” Alistair grumbled. “What about Sprocket, can he swim?”

Lisette didn’t answer; deciding instead to continue working on the boat’s engine.

“I asked you a question, Lady Cousland. Can the dog swim or not?” When she refused to acknowledge him, Alistair snapped. “You should have left the engine alone. You don’t understand, nor do you care what this means. You call yourself loyal to Ferelden and yet there you sit ignoring me, judging me. Who do you think you are?”

“Careful, Alistair,” Morrigan interjected.  Lisette stared blankly at him, but Alistair refused to stop, despite Morrigan’s warning.

“What would Cailan say about your attitude? He was my brother- my blood and you sit there disrespecting us both with your presumptions and pretenses. Answer the bloody question, and once we’re on solid ground again you and your mage friend here can be on your merry way -far away from me!”

For a moment he regretted his words, the pained expression on Lisette’s reddening face fed a wave of guilt that engulfed him.

She stammered her response, timid and soft. “Yes. . .yes he can, but he will need a few hours between tasks.”

“Thank you, finally a direct answer.” Alistair called Sprocket closer. “I’m sorry to ask you, but I need you to get help at the tower. Bring someone here, can you do that?”

 

l-l-l

Twilight fell quicker than expected on Lake Calenhad, and with it Alistair’s hopes of reaching the tower before dark. Lisette and Morrigan spoke in whispers at one end of the boat while Alistair sat alone at the other. He’d wanted to apologize but feared his anger would flow once more. Choosing silence seemed best. Unsure how much time had passed, when Alistair searched the lake with his eyes, he saw it, another long boat with a lantern headed toward them.

Relief flowed through him as the boat pulled alongside, and one of the two robed figures offered help, addressing Alistair.

“Your Grace, I found your . . .companion and he is unharmed and resting.” The robed man spoke in practiced speech; Alistair had met Templars before finding most to be well versed in etiquette and restraint and this man appeared no different. Clothed in a heavy wool robe, the sunburst cowl of the Chantry rested on his shoulders, but the long maroon and gold sash bore the insignia of the Order. A sword surrounded by golden flames.

He held out a pale white hand and Morrigan, closest to him, crossed with help, sitting closer to the second man. She gave her name, but nothing more. Lisette gathered her tools shoving them into her satchel.

“How fortunate to have your own engineer, Your Grace, these old boats are not accustomed to tweaks and tinkering. It takes a practiced hand to keep them running.”

Alistair coughed to hide his amusement and wondered how long Lisette would allow someone to see her as a common engineer.

“Lady Lisette Cousland,” she said, refusing the Templar’s hand.

The man recoiled for a moment, pulling his hand back, before offering an apology. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not know. My lady, your family name is Cousland, you say? And is this the same noble family from Highever?”

She nodded. “The same.”

The Templar’s response, slow and deliberate carried an air of contemplation to it. “I. . .I see.”

Curiosity piqued at the odd reaction, Alistair pressed the man as he traversed the small gap and joined the others. “You recognize the name, do you?”

“Your Grace, please accept my apologies. My name is Cullen Rutherford. You are all welcome to share in the hospitality of the Order, but I fear your journey is for naught. The Tower itself is afflicted, and the mages trapped. We have sent word for help from Professor Cousland, but none have returned. Perhaps you might know of his whereabouts, my lady?”

Alistair shook his head and answered for Lisette. “The Professor rests with the Maker I’m afraid.”

The two Templars exchanged a glance but said nothing, leaving the group to ride in silence as they resumed their journey across the lake. Lisette spoke first.

“Afflicted? How can the tower be afflicted?”

Cullen took time to respond and Alistair had to wonder if the delay stemmed from a desire to protect or to lie.  

“My lady, you will see soon enough. It sleeps now, but with the morning sun, a demon rises at its heart. I fear if someone does not cleanse it, then those caught within the madness will die.”

Alistair would need to help those within the tower to earn their trust and retrieve the next box. “Then we will help,” he said, staring at Lisette. “Won’t we, Lady Cousland?”

Cullen shook his head. “You would help us? But why?”

“It is the right thing to do. Besides, if I really am to lead Ferelden, what better way to earn trust than to offer aid to those in need? Will you guide us? Or perhaps suggest another who would be willing?”

Cullen spoke in soft even tones, the mark of a Templar. Most were quiet and reflective until called upon to fight, only then did these warrior priests reveal the strength within.

“Many ages past, a Rutherford was asked to aid two Wardens-a Theirin and a Cousland. He refused to honor their request and spent years seeking the means of his redemption. It is said those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” Cullen removed the heavy woolen hood from his head, revealing his shoulder length hair in golden curls and close-cut beard, his amber eyes blazing in resolve in the lantern’s firelight.  “Now a Theirin and a Cousland call for aid once more from the Order. Unlike my ancestor, a Rutherford _will_ answer that call.  If you will allow it, my sword is yours.”

 


	7. Into The Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair waits to learn if Cullen will lead them through the tower at Kinloch Hold, but an odd exchange with one of Cullen's associates reveals a secret, and it might be just the thing to help them defeat the corruption within the tower's walls.

Torches blazed against grey stone walls, another sign of the Order's preference for simplicity. Small groups gathered speaking in hushed conversations, curious eyes glancing at Alistair as he waited while Cullen spoke with his superiors.

Alistair understood a fair amount of the Templar’s history. Some two hundred years ago, the Templars split into two factions. Those who wished to continue the oversight of mages and use lyrium continued in a military fashion using the Spire near Val Royeaux as their base of operations. Cullen and those gathered in Ferelden turned their attention inward seeking closeness with the Maker through prayer, conditioning and servitude, rejecting lyrium in all its guises.

These men and women eschewed technology, choosing to live without the comforts most relied on in everyday life. _Despite the massive contradiction rising above them_ , Alistair thought.

Kinloch Hold was the structure beneath the tower, it housed the Templars, their barracks, kitchens and many workshops, but the tower was reserved for mages only. It was a prototype, the first of its kind. Alistair had been much younger when Professor Cousland and his teams completed the tower’s construction. On paper, it was a marvel of ingenuity and complexity; every floor designed as a cog in the works fitting together to create the first inhabitable, working machine.

Rooms could rotate on a central axis, and the senior mages within set locks, keys and tasks in line with honing magical skills. It challenged mages to use logic in concert with magic, teaching each to find working solutions rather than react. The tower filled to capacity within months of its completion, and the reported waiting list for mages stretched for years to come.

Lisette tended to Sprocket in one workshop; Morrigan confirmed the clockwork dog would function soon enough, but recommended giving the lady time and solitude to work.

 _The lady can remain here for all I care_. Alistair had yet to let his annoyance with Lisette dissipate. _She’s been nothing but a headache._ Of larger concern were Cullen’s words. Alistair couldn’t quite comprehend how a tower constructed of metal, stone and wood could be corrupted.

Of additional concern was Cullen’s companion who turned out to be a woman by the name of Leliana.   She’d stared at him the entire boat trip, and when he thought to glance at Cullen’s conversation across the room, found the redhead staring at him with a strangely crooked smile on her face.

“So you’re Maric’s son.”

Alistair raised his head to see the robed woman standing in front of him, bent at the waist to speak eye to eye. “You’re. . .Leliana, at least Cullen had the sense to offer your name.” He tried not to sigh, it appeared to Alistair that every woman he’d met on this journey except for Lady Eleanor Cousland carried themselves with an attitude he’d never been accustomed to in mixed company. _Perhaps politeness disappeared with the dawn of invention._

Her musical laugh and quick apology did little for Alistair’s frustrations. “You’re right, and perhaps since I speak before Ferelden’s heir, I should take care to be nicer.” She inclined her head toward him. “My name is Sister Leliana. You may not have heard of me, but I assure you the Chantry takes great interest in your ascension.”

Alistair laughed. “My. . .my what?”

Leliana pulled a chair with her and sat across from him. “Why, your ascension of course. The Maker saw fit to bring you to this point in time and bade me to help you.”

He started to smile and then thought better, but he couldn’t let the game continue. “Right. The Maker planned all this-just for me.”

Leliana nodded, conviction heavy in her steeled gaze and stern face. “Of course He did, and that is why you will have my help.”

This time Alistair smiled and using the gentlest tone he could muster, Alistair responded.  “While I have no doubt that you are incredibly devoted I really must decline. You see, I’ve a party consisting of a tinker’s daughter who would rather see me rot than lead Ferelden, and a witch with a dragon construct named mother, not to mention a clockwork dog who only answers to me. I believe I may have already accepted the assistance of the Templar you traveled with, and I will admit to being less than religious these days. So, thank you for your kindness Sister Leliana, but I believe I’m rather close to my limits on the strange and absurd.”

Her reaction of laughter and the pat on Alistair’s leg disarmed him. “You have a wonderful view of things, Alistair. I like you.”

Staring at her hand on his leg, he raised a single brow. “Yes, I can see that.”

She shook his comment away.  “Apologies. Cullen says I need to work on understanding the personal space of others. I’ll remember that as we travel.” 

“We?” Alistair had to consider the woman might be touched or a terrible listener to say the least.

She stood. “Yes, we. I’m afraid it’s a package deal where Cullen goes, I go. The Chantry has deep interests in Cullen Rutherford. He’s the first of his kind, you know.”

Alistair’s eyes searched the room for an escape route realizing Leliana was likely stark raving mad. “And what exactly is he?” Rising to his feet in slow and deliberate movements, Alistair hoped to gain the attention of those on the opposite side of the room.

“You don’t know? But I thought. . .I was sure you knew, and that is why you accepted his offer.” Leliana took a step closer. “He’s the first Templar ever. . .born a mage.”

Alistair couldn’t believe it, and sat down again, looking to Leliana for more. “How is that possible?”

She shrugged. “We don’t know. It’s odd. The Rutherford line has been highly regarded by both the Seekers of Truth and the Templars–not to mention the Chantry. There are books upon books about that man’s ancestors, but all of a sudden. . .this happened. It’s fascinating and from the Chantry’s perspective, its proof that the Maker’s plan is real.”

Alistair scratched his head. “Or he has the most twisted sense of humor.”

“That too,” Leliana said. She turned her body enough to watch Cullen’s conversation. “He’s trained as a Templar, but his true skill lies with his magic. Cullen has completed the tower trial hundreds of times. He is the best choice to guide you to its heart.” She shifted on her chair and leaned closer. “Aiding you could be the push he needs to trust in his skills and give him a purpose.”

Leaning back Alistair couldn’t find words. “I. . .don’t know what to say.”

Leliana sighed. “He’s wasted here; it’s my goal to see him make a difference; to prove that there is no need to separate mages and Templars.” She paused. “Forgive me. One of my ancestors served as Divine in the Dragon Age and her written works appealed to me, which is why I follow the Chantry.”

“And Cullen?”

Leliana nodded before answering. “There are those who would see him locked up, mages and Templars alike for crimes of the past, but exacting a price on that man’s head because of his ancestors? I cannot allow it.  The Maker spoke to me, told me to find him here, and I did, I traveled from Val Royeaux without knowing his name and when I arrived, Cullen greeted me.” She inhaled before continuing. “I am not mad. I know what age we live in and where I am, but I swear to you, the Maker asked me to join you on your path and I will do that.”

He considered her convictions, her beliefs _. She cares for Cullen, to what end is unimportant_ , he thought. _I don’t know my purpose, or what waits at the end of this journey, but I will need help_. Alistair slapped his hands atop his thighs and stood. “Well then, who am I to question the Maker’s will?” He thrust out his hand and Leliana shook it, her surprise melding into a wide grin.

The predawn hours arrived with the chime of a bell, and from the silence a monstrous groan echoed through the stones of the hold, followed by a shudder. Templars scattered, and the large room emptied except for a few. Lisette and Morrigan hurried from the left side hallway and stared wide-eyed at Alistair.

Another groan reverberated above them, and the question on Alistair’s tongue dissolved when a muted rhythm began somewhere high above them. Alistair tried to place it, but found nothing in his memory to equate the loud thumps to–it sounded as if a monster stalked the tower above them.

Alistair whispered afraid he’d anger whatever had announced its presence. “What was that?”

Leliana reached out and gripped Alistair’s arm.  “The tower-it wakes.”

Cullen had disappeared with the others, but he hurried into the main hall more appropriately dressed for combat in a simple tunic and trousers, his sword in a sheath on his hip and a shield glove similar to Alistair’s.  He carried a weathered bag slung across his chest. In his hand he carried a bow and quiver, handing it off to Leliana. “We have twelve hours to pass through the tower’s defenses and reach the heart.  Leliana and I will lead you, and you may take one other.”

Leliana pointed to Mother and warned of the tower’s defenses. “The construct must stay behind; the tower does not take kindly to other machines.”

Morrigan stepped back shielding the dragon in her hands. “I shall not leave her.”

“Then you stay,” Leliana’s sharp tone made it clear they had no time for arguments. “You’re the younger Cousland, right? Can you stop the tower’s mechanisms?”

Lisette’s eyes glanced upward, and Alistair wondered if she could really be helpful, but before he could protest, she responded. “I don’t know how you know me, but the tower is unlike any construct. I will try, and that is the best I can offer.”

Cullen and Leliana nodded in agreement. “Hurry then. Time will not wait,” Cullen led the group toward a barred door. He spoke to Morrigan, showing her how the slide worked. “When we enter, close the door and slide this back into place. You must not fail to seal the entrance, do you understand?”

She nodded, her face pale. “You know what waits for you, don’t you? I can feel its anger, radiating through the very stones.”

He did not face her as he answered. “It is corrupt and yes, I know what waits.” His shoulders caved for a moment before Cullen faced the group. “Each room is a test, some are illusion and others quite real. Look for a font somewhere in each room. If it glows, the creatures are real.”

The discordant scrape of the metal bar against the door set Alistair’s nerves on edge; his eyes closed, and he winced. Leliana took over the explanation while Cullen unlocked the door.

“The tests are meant to confuse you, disorient even. There is magic at play. Keep your wits and do not wander.”

Alistair bit his tongue to stop the snide remarks that filled his head from spilling out. _I’ve got a terrible feeling about this, and while panicking might seem silly, I’m considering it a perfectly natural reaction to all this._

Once Cullen was sure Morrigan was situated and prepared, he threw open the door. A blue shimmering curtain blocked the way. Cullen muttered words and raised his hand to the barrier until the barrier faded away.

Almost sure the words were familiar, Alistair followed Cullen but still posed his question. “What was it you uttered? It sounded familiar.”

“Nothing important,” Cullen replied, quickly changing the subject. “Eyes on me and stay close. There are five floors, and each one has five rooms. Move when I tell you, are we clear?”

 

The first four rooms proved empty, but when they entered the fifth, two young mages huddled in a corner crying, their dark novice robes covering their shaking bodies. Lisette hurried to help them.

“My lady- no!” Cullen lunged toward her, grabbing her arm and yanking her away. In the confusion, Alistair moved closer. What had appeared to their eyes as two children unfurled in black rags and skeletal limbs righting itself into a single hovering creature.

Alistair peeled his eyes from the apparition and searched for the font in the room. His heart sank when he saw the cylindrical piece near the far wall. It rose only three feet high, with a shallow concave bowl on top. A fine white mist poured from the bowl and the font glowed a cold and eerie violet-blue.

 _It’s real_ , Alistair thought, _this is no illusion_. He shifted his posture to face their foe only to see the creature floating in midair. “Is that. . . is that a demon?”

Leliana readied her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver. “Yes, Alistair, I’m afraid it is.”

 

l-l-l

The four of them fell through the exit door into the stairwell, all panting from exertion. Alistair bent at the waist and laughed. “Oh Duncan, forgive me my friend. I should not have doubted you.”

Questions to his state of mind came from all three of his companions, but Alistair waved them away. “Ignore me, I’m terrified. That’s all. Demons, darkspawn I’ve seen no proof they existed,” he coughed in an attempt to cease his nervous laughter, “until today.” Concern and fear covered by laughter carried him near tears. Alistair’s eyes squeezed tight reminding himself in silent words to get control. After several deep breaths he straightened and offered an explanation.  “It’s a scary thing to realize the stories you thought frightened you into behaving better are actually real.”

Cullen nodded and hummed, climbing the short steps to the next door. “We cannot stop now.”

Gathering his thoughts, Alistair straightened his jacket and readied his sword and shield, letting the weight of tangible things settle his nerves. “Quite right, Cullen, lead on.”  Alistair plastered a smile on his face hoping none had seen his hand shake on the hilt of his sword. _So, Maker of all things if you’re up there, please see me through this._

Room after room, Cullen led the party through tests of will. As they climbed the tower’s gears complained even louder, sending impossible foes and burning demons to hold their advance. The pounding rhythm above them changed in tempo, slow and then fast, increasing in speed and intensity. Alistair sure whatever lumbered above them kept pace with the battles.

Lisette worked to disengage the locks as the other fought, securing the pathways for those mages trapped on the upper floors. Many rescued offered to stay and help, but Cullen insisted all leave them to their task.

The second floor hid little from the party in each of the rooms until they entered the fifth room. Apparitions of skeletal warriors swarmed their party, but Cullen’s hushed words cleared the floor of all but one. A man by his height, he stood with his back facing the group. His ancient armor appeared to melt into billowing fabric sent flying by a gust or a heavy breeze. When the movement ceased, the man that remained was all too familiar to Alistair.

Dressed in a black waistcoat and black and white striped trousers, the white neckerchief sparked a memory of some formal affair. Turning toward them the man pulled out a pocket watch, and the clasp popped open. “You’re right on time, my son.” His hair was more brown than Alistair remembered, unruly in its shoulder long lengths. The warmth of his brown eyes smiled in such richness, Alistair was sure he’d found Maric. 

“Father?”

Alistair stumbled forward, returning his sword to its sheath.

“I’ve been waiting,” honeyed words dripped from the man’s lips. “How long as it been since we last spoke?”

Multiple hands tried to hold him back, but Alistair shrugged them away, continuing his advance. “You were lost at sea,” disbelief and uncertainty slowed his steps, but the possibility of freedom from obligations and difficulties urged him forward. “How did you get _here_?”

“It matters not.” Maric’s arms opened expecting an embrace. “Come with me.”

Another step brought him closer, but this time Lisette blocked his way. Maric was never formal, her father often commented on Maric’s sarcastic and snide remarks. Lisette knew better.  “Listen to his speech! That _thing_ is not Maric.” She shook his shoulder, but Alistair swept her aside.

“He’s not listening!” Lisette called to Alistair several times, but despite hearing her words, the compulsion to move forward negated all reason. “Cullen, the font,” Lisette pointed at the fountain, “it glows!”

Lisette tried again to block Alistair’s movement, and in a panic slapped his face. He glanced at her for a moment and said nothing. “Alistair, what is wrong with you?”

Two steps brought Cullen to stand before Alistair. “It’s a desire demon. Once it convinces Alistair that we stand in his way, he’ll attack us.”

Leliana pulled Lisette away. “Cullen, you know what to do.”

A single nod to both of them set Cullen in motion and he reached for his sword.  Cullen advanced, sword at the ready blocking Alistair from reaching the demon. The absurdity of the actions unfolding before Lisette terrified her. “Cullen, you can’t!”

Behind him, Maric spoke to Alistair. “My son, you will protect your father won’t you?”

Alistair never saw it coming. Leliana’s fist connected with Alistair’s nose, catching him unaware; a swift kick to the chest knocked him to the ground. At the same time, Cullen wheeled around and stabbed the demon with his sword, pushing it back against the wall in an attempt to sever the connection. He managed to hold the demon between a slash of his sword and the small shield.

In the chaos of the room, Lisette’s anger carried her toward Cullen and demon, drawing her sword and hacking away at the visage of Maric. Tears flowed of their own accord and continued even after the demon faded away.

“Thank you my lady, you’re quite good. Whoever trained you did well.” Lisette thanked Cullen, but questioned Alistair’s well-being. Cullen nodded in Alistair’s direction as he answered. “He’ll be all right, perhaps a little angry at Leliana.”

Alistair scoffed holding a handkerchief to his bloodied nose. “A little angry, he says.” Leliana tried to look at her handiwork, but he slapped her hand away. “Ow! You hit me!”

She shrugged. “You were acting quite the idiot. It proved necessary. The good news is, you’ll heal.”

“Why does my chest hurt?” Alistair tried not to whine, but found the pain increasing with time, rubbing the pained area.

Leliana scrunched her nose and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I kind of kicked you, too. Be glad it wasn’t Cullen, he took on the demon, I got landed with keeping you from doing anything stupid.”

Alistair coughed, spitting blood. “I’m starting not to like you very much.”

She smiled and offered her hand, helping Alistair to stand. “Understandable, it’s not every day you get knocked down and kicked because of a demon and _you’re welcome_ , by the way.”

Cullen did not share in the levity, Alistair noted the near frown and severity of movement. Driving his sword into the sheath, Cullen closed his eyes and exhaled. Alistair couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen had been through the tower’s tests so many times, what had _he_ seen? Alistair met Cullen’s stare and nodded with a slight bow in thanks.

The silent acknowledgement from Cullen lasted but a moment, and he urged the group to follow him to the third floor. “Keep vigilant and look to one another for help. There are worse trials ahead.”

 

 

 

 


	8. The Heart of the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tower at Kinloch hold continues its assault of Alistair's party targeting Lisette and Cullen. Alistair learns the truth behind the tower and his fascination quickly turns to fear.

Traveling with Alistair was like taking medicine. Lisette dreaded the thought of having to do so, and even after she realized it wasn’t as horrid as she believed, she couldn’t admit it. _Keep telling yourself whatever story you wish,_ she chastised her thoughts _, but you felt sorry for him after you attacked Maric, even if it was a demon in disguise._

Alistair hadn’t said much to her, not since he’d yelled at her on the boat, and for Lisette, she believed it was best. _We can’t be friends, she asserted, not ever. He should have saved Cailan._ _What kind of man allows his brother to die?_ Her eyes remained fixed on Alistair’s back, so much unsaid her bitterness adding more proof to Alistair’s guilt.

_You know that to be a lie; the murderer waits judgement in Redcliffe._

Lisette often debated such things in her head. When younger, her brother teased her about her voicing her arguments aloud and by the time she reached fourteen, Lisette learned to keep her thoughts private.

She had an awareness of Leliana’s presence, but ignored the strange woman, keeping her eyes forward.

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Leliana’s offhand comment earned a grumble from Cullen as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Lisette turned her head toward Leliana and remained polite, unsure to whom she referred. “I hadn’t considered.”

The laughter from Leliana and the way she tossed her head back only solidified Lisette’s beliefs. Leliana was likely quite mad.

“You’re lying, of course.” Leliana said with a sigh. “It’s all right; he’s used to the attention.”

Cullen grumbled a warning but did not halt his steps. “Not everyone cares to speak on me, Leliana, let it go.”

Lisette considered the exchange and guessed that the two were likely involved. “You have nothing to fear from me, I have no interest in anyone, I want to help, that’s all.” She wondered how much the two knew about her father’s work. Maric had supported it, promising to shield Bryce from scrutiny, but if the tower was corrupted, everything he’d worked for would end. Lisette tried to steer the conversation toward the tower’s difficulties and raised her voice. “How long ago did all this happen?”

Cullen sighed. “A story for another time, my lady. We will have much to discuss, I am sure.” He pointed up the stairwell. “This is the entrance to the third floor, prepare yourself.”

His words may have been directed to them all, but Lisette could not mistake the hard stare from Cullen. She dismissed it; he couldn’t possibly know the processes her father had devised. Lisette hung back, allowing the other three to take on the foes, while she fixed each lock, disconnecting pins and pulling the blocks. _Not even a corrupted tower can rebuild a broken lock_ , she concluded.

The lock on the fifth room was more intricate than others; she’d not seen the configuration before and had to guess someone had made modifications. Leliana and Cullen urged Lisette to hurry and follow them, but the complexity of the lock enticed her to stay and dissemble its parts to learn more.

When a young girl dressed in white frills and red hair bows affixed to her dark brown pig tails skipped into the room, Lisette stopped her work and watched the little girl. Familiarity pulled her attention _. I used to have hair like that_ , she mused. _Mother always put me in those garish hairbows._

Smiling at the little girl, Lisette waved. Small pudgy hands covered the child’s lips as she giggled and returned the wave, before a serious expression overtook the laughter. A raised index finger to her lips asked Lisette for silence. She tiptoed closer to Lisette and leaned close.

“He’s looking for you, Pup.” The child’s soft voice carried a warning.

Lisette froze. Only her father ever called her Pup. A joke he never explained.  Fear refused to release her limbs. Her eyes searched for any sign of the others through the door, and when she tried to call for Leliana, her voice abandoned her.

 _You’ve got to move Lizzy, before it finds you._ She issued the warning again, tears pooling when despite the will, her body remained still. She closed her eyes repeating a mantra meant to keep her sanity. _It’s not real. . .it’s not real._

The light dimmed in the room, Lisette fully aware the tower had chosen her as its target. In the far corner, a man bent over a work bench, small tools clattering on the wooden table as he switched from tool to tool. He pulled a pair of goggles down to cover his eyes, leaning closer to his task.

“Come here Pup and let me show you something magical.” The man gestured for her to approach, but Lisette shook the idea from her head. _That’s not my father._

“Lizzy,” disappointment and annoyance coated his words, “don’t disobey your father. Come here.”

She had to consider the scene was all in her head, a trick of the tower. It was meant to find a weakness and exploit it; the demons and creatures were an unfortunately side effect of whatever had overtaken the tower’s mechanisms. Lisette clung to the logic in her mind, reasoning a way through the images she witnessed. Searching the room for the font, she realized it lay dormant, further proof this was merely an illusion.

The image before her reminded Lisette of one of her first lessons with her father.

_“Bring me the jar, Pup,” Bryce Cousland looked over his shoulder, and in that moment, smiling at his daughter. “It’s all right.”_

_She stepped forward with a jar in her hands. He’d drilled holes into the lid, and promised she could keep the butterfly, but here she was, standing in his workshop eyes shifting from her father to the blue and white butterfly within the jar._

_Lisette didn’t want to disobey, but he’d promised she could keep it. The butterfly was hers to care for, hers to protect. Mother had told her so._

_“Let me have it, and I promise; the butterfly you love will live forever.”_

_She knew the truth, she’d overheard mother and father’s arguments. Sacrifice. That’s what her mother had said. The Chantry sister explained it. Sacrifice meant giving up something for another._

_Tears pooled, and she pouted. She sniffled, catching her father’s attention. “Give me the jar.”_

_“No!” Lisette turned to run, but a strong arm grabbed hers holding her back until the jar slipped from her hands and shattered. She gasped at the sight of trembling shredded wings and cried. The strong hand shook her calling her name, but Lisette could only sob and dropped to her knees._

 

l-l-l

Alistair called for Cullen, Lisette refused to acknowledge him her sobbing only intensified with each attempt. Curled on the floor, she was lost in her grief. When Cullen entered he hurried to join Alistair. “It’s the tower, she’s confused. It’s using her memories against her.”

No matter his opinions on Lisette Cousland, whatever plagued her had broken her will, and it disturbed Alistair; the appeal on Lisette’s behalf surprised him. “Help her.” The Warden in him couldn’t abide her suffering, despite the animosity between them.  

They could do little although Cullen and Leliana conferred suggesting a few options. While they worked, Leliana appealed to Alistair.  “Talk to her and let her hear you, tell her anything; share a story, a memory something pleasant and be yourself.”

He couldn’t. She despised him. Rejected his birth and dared to question his loyalty to Cailan.  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Without another word, Alistair offered a weak excuse and moved apart from the others, asking Cullen to see to the lady.

It didn’t take long for Leliana to join Alistair. “You’re not a bad man, Alistair.”

“Why thank you, Leliana. I hadn’t realized.” He closed his eyes. “I apologize. I don’t belong here.”

She reached for his arm, turning Alistair around. “You do, as does Lisette. If it weren’t true, neither of you would have made it this far.”

Alistair stepped back. “Who _are_ you? Do you know what is going on in the real world? Fate and divine intervention are stories for weak minds. Loghain is real. He’s the cause of all this. He took Maric, then Cailan.”

“You forgot the Professor. You are not the center of all Thedas, Alistair. Your family is not the only one Loghain has injured.” Leliana jaw tightened. 

He closed his eyes and sighed, swallowing the retort clamoring to get out. “I know,” he said, shaking his head before meeting her eyes. “I swear I’ll set it right.”

Her expression brightened, and a smile took hold of Leliana’s face. “I believe you will, Alistair.” Leliana’s words unsettled Alistair leaving him little choice but to return to Cullen and Lisette. To silence Leliana, Alistair shifted his interest away from her and spoke to Cullen

"How is the lady?” Expecting Cullen to answer, he wasn’t prepared for Lisette’s reply.

“I am. . .I should apologize. I didn’t listen and caused this delay. I saw,” she paused, her skin paling with the recollection, “it doesn’t matter.”

Leliana’s admonishment to remember the lives impacted by Loghain repeated in Alistair’s head. He offered his hand to help Lisette to her feet. “You’ve done nothing wrong, we’re nearly there. Isn’t that right Cullen?” His comment carried little belief; he merely hoped to convince Lisette it was time to continue.

“Yes, we’re nearly there.” Cullen’s omission of reassurance struck Alistair as odd, considering how accommodating and polite the interaction with him had been, but the glare that passed from Cullen to Lisette was anything but polite. Given their limited time together, Alistair couldn’t quite understand the reaction.

 “Wait,” Lisette called after Cullen. “You know about the constructs, don’t you?”

Alistair stepped back taking in the conversation. Something in Cullen’s posture changed, he stiffened; Alistair recognized himself in that move, a way of holding back to save another. He understood the constructs, Sprocket, and the dragon weren’t real, but some part of them acted like a living creature.

“Yes, I know.” Harsh lines and anger’s grip took hold of the soft spoken Templar. “I know every one of them is an _abomination_.” In the delivery of a single word, Cullen’s demeanor changed. His eyes narrowed, directing his ire and accusations to Lisette. “Abominations that your father created, and you did not stop him.” A raised voice leaves no doubt to anger, but Cullen’s voice never raised in volume, his words cutting as deep.

Trails of tears fell in silent paths across Lisette’s cheeks. “I didn’t know until it was too late. I was too young.”

Cullen’s grip on his satchel tightened, and his words fell with increasing disdain. “ _You_ perfected it. That _thing_ pretending to be a mabari? The dragon? Those are _your_ creations. You didn’t stop, even after we begged you both to cease these _experiments_. _I_ witnessed Uldred’s death. _I_ watched as your father took his lifeblood and mixed it with the metal core and brought this tower to life, waiting for the day when it would fall, and when it did-you left us with this,” he gestured to the room, indicating the tower.  

Disbelief carried Alistair into the conversation, despite Leliana’s grip on his arm. “Hold on. Are you saying that Sprocket was alive? You took lives to create these creatures? What kind of monster does that?” Alistair couldn’t believe it. He’d aligned his search for Maric with those who devalued life in favor of innovation.

“No!” Lisette’s insistence bled into her explanation. “My father was no monster! A life lost is wasted; my father wanted to extend that which might be lost and heal those hearts that were broken. It was a noble pursuit! I swear it!” Lisette hugged herself, and spoke through her tears. She stumbled toward the wall and rested her hand for support, speaking to no one in particular. “Her name was Maribelle- Maric’s favorite, he couldn’t face her death and asked if we could. . . he didn’t want to lose her.”

Alistair remembered the old hound and the incident that introduced them. Cailan and Maric visited the elder Eamon when Alistair was younger. They’d been playing in the courtyard, when Maribelle had taken exception to Cailan’s roughhousing and knocked Cailan down, standing between the brothers protecting Alistair. Cailan never trusted Maric’s hounds after that day.

“But Maribelle died, she was old and ill.”

Lisette nodded. “My father followed his king’s request. It failed. The core was intact, but the body,” she stopped. “It took time to find a way to create the proper shell to carry the core-that’s what I did. She’d not worked,” Lisette paused, “until you found her.”

Sprocket was Maribelle. Alistair stared at Lisette. It made sense. Maribelle had gravitated toward Alistair from the moment they’d met. She disliked Cailan and almost everyone else; the pack master had called her spiteful and unruly. She hated nearly everyone save Maric-and Alistair. “So that’s why you brought Sprocket. No one else would ever be as loyal as Maric’s favorite.”

She pleaded with Cullen. “We meant no harm, surely you can see-”

“No harm?” Cullen kept his voice even, but his anger radiated filling the surrounding space. “Uldred was a blood mage; reviled by his peers and twisted by his hatred for Templars and mages alike. When your father suggested the unthinkable, the Order advised against it, the senior enchanters advised against accepting Uldred’s offer, but your father ignored the warnings of those who knew what it could mean all for his abomination of stone and steel.”

It took soft and gentle words from Leliana to calm Cullen. “We need to silence Uldred and with it the tower.”

He fixed his glare on Leliana, but something in his face changed. A moment of recognition or understanding passed and Cullen agreed, turning away from the others until a long exhale seemed to steady him.  “Do not wander; do not slow your steps. We’ve wasted far too much time, and others will suffer if we do not move.”

Leliana stopped Lisette and Alistair. “The flames you will see are not real. The screams you will hear are not real. This is Cullen’s burden. It will be unsettling, frightening and despite his silence, know Cullen hears every word.”

Questions formed on Alistair’s lips, but Leliana shook her head. “Another time, we must hurry.” 

 

l-l-l

It is one thing to have your faults and sins brought forth, but to see another’s pain? To hear the sobs and cries of those you cannot help? Alistair had never carried such a burden. The Tower had not been cruel with him; it had stripped Lisette raw until her emotions broke down. But Cullen? It tormented him. Cries for help unanswered. Pleas for mercy unfulfilled. Through it all, Alistair glimpsed Cullen’s face only once; hardened to the cries he remained silent. Tears streamed with each step, their presence illuminated by the raging flames in every room.  

Alistair’s respect for Cullen deepened; to remain so devout, so willing to aid others spoke to his resounding character and faith. _Someone I could trust_ , Alistair thought, _reminds me of Duncan._

When they reached the stairwell, Cullen spoke for the first time in hours. “Forgive me. It never seems to get easier, no matter how many times I pass through these halls.”

Hundreds of times, Leliana had said. That was Alistair’s recollection. The tower turned some event in Cullen’s life into a trial of will, a test of self and for him to pass through without giving up and repeating it, Alistair wondered if the repetition strengthened Cullen’s will or reminded him of his failures. 

Cullen said little more, standing at the final door, a constant rhythm kept time as he spoke and the heaviness in the air weighed on them all.  “The heart of the tower waits beyond this door.” He sighed and faced Lisette. “Your father was a brilliant man, but you must understand. What he did and what you may continue to do _must_ stop. What gives your creations life- was never yours to take.”

The red bloom on Lisette’s face revealed she understood what Cullen’s words meant, and while Alistair’s concern begged for an explanation, Cullen gave his final instructions.

“The demon within feeds on rage; steel your heart and trust in the Maker’s light.” Cullen opened the door.

A sudden silence confused them all; after hours of relentless thumping there was nothing. A column of gears and cogs, rods and wheels filled the room and rose high above them, but not one of them moved until the tower responded in a deafening cacophony. The thumping noise they had heard for hours finally took shape, into a monstrous heartbeat. Gears whined and shrieked as they turned grated against one another, and the warm air staled despite the constant motion at the center of the room.

Cullen gestured for the others to follow him up the winding stairs built into the wall. He raised his fingers to his lips, a request for silence.  Leliana followed Cullen with Alistair close behind her, leaving Lisette at the rear of the party.

As fascinated as Alistair found the intricacies of the workmanship, he shivered. _Something waits for us._ Each step they took seemed to echo through the tower room, Alistair positive the next step would be the one to aggravate the monster above them into retaliation.

Halfway up the stairs, Alistair loosened his shirt collar. “It’s getting hotter, isn’t it?”

Leliana shouted back at him. “That’s just the rage demon. Nothing to worry about, at least not yet.”

“Just the. . . just the rage demon? I beg your pardon; no one said _anything_ about a rage demon. Aren’t those big angry reddish melty things?” He stopped on the stairs and waited.

An exasperated sigh from Leliana halted her steps. “Oops? Must have slipped my mind–what did you think would corrupt the essence of life? Yes, Alistair. A big angry reddish melty thing waits. So don’t dawdle, we best continue.”

Grey Wardens hadn’t fought darkspawn or demons in several lifetimes. They’d been relegated to keeping the peace in the skies and aiding the nations of Thedas as bodyguards and laborers. Duncan had made sure Alistair had proper training in combat and included as much as possible about the foes Wardens had faced, Alistair had never considered it important-until now.

The stairs carried them higher and higher until the heat weighed their steps and slowed the advance. What concerned Alistair most was the single metal rail keeping them from falling. He couldn’t tell how they would reach the apex of the tower, no landing or platform extended outward from the wall.   

Lisette tugged on Alistair’s jacket. When he turned to face her, he noticed the blotchy redness to her face and rivulets of sweat trailing from her hairline to her neck. The increasing heat seemed to be winning the battle with her.  “I don’t. . .I don’t feel. . .”

Had Alistair not lunged for her as she passed out, Lisette would have slipped through the stairs and the railing. “Leliana!” Alistair held onto Lisette’s limp body as Leliana worked to revive Lisette.

Despite her concentration, Leliana’s rushed words carried urgency. “Alistair, I ask that you continue with Cullen. He knows what must be done. Can you use a bow?” 

Alistair could use any weapon, Duncan had insisted on the training regardless of his preference for the sword. “I can.”

“Then leave her with me. Maker guide your hand.”

He rose, bow and quiver in his hand. The strop proved too small to sit comfortably on Alistair’s chest, in a moment of clarity, he looped the strop through his belt; the bulk of the quiver impaired his movement, but he could notch arrows as needed.  Leliana hissed a final warning for Alistair to hurry.

He took the stairs as fast as his overburdened balance could handle, reaching Cullen’s position. Cullen stared out toward the apex, gears turned in blinding speeds; the grating of metal and force at once made Alistair wince. He continued to scan the area until he located what held his companion’s eyes.

Between the gears and tucked away, shielded by cogs and pins, gears and blocks hid a cloud of red and black. The core pulsed; a silent furious beating of an enraged beast. A fluid black mist rolled and churned around the core, sparks igniting within its tendrils.

“Tell me what to do.” Alistair whispered his request; a futile attempt to hide his presence for whatever they faced undoubtedly knew where he stood.

Cullen’s serenity of self and calm voice surprised Alistair. The command uttered so softly, it sent a chill through him. “Ready an arrow and pray.”

Prayer would not fell a demon; faith could not defeat an enemy. Alistair failed to comprehend what Cullen planned to do, but unwilling to question him, complied.

The recitation proved familiar and somewhat comforting; Alistair had been taught verses from the Chant of Light by Duncan. Deeply religious, Duncan had insisted on the study. He couldn’t recall the name of the verse, but the words flowed in his thoughts as Cullen spoken them.

A faint glow to his right stopped his invocations and Alistair’s focus shifted to the ever-growing intensity of light in Cullen’s hands. He’d heard tales of divine magic, the chosen Herald of Andraste- the savior of Thedas but never believed they existed. The Chantry was nothing more than a collection of disillusioned hopefuls waiting for something or someone who never existed, but when Cullen reached out and touched the arrow, it glowed as the sun on a summer day and yet unnaturally so, as if his spirit had flowed through his prayers and into the wood and metal for the sole purpose of vanquishing the corruption before them.

“Strike true, Alistair,” Cullen said, “Maker guide your aim.”

He notched the arrow and pulled, the slow stretch of tightly braided sinew readying his strike. Alistair let the weight of the bow settle and exhaled until he stood still. His vision narrowed and setting his aim, Alistair released his shot.

The arrowhead shattered upon reaching the core, and he apologized readying another. Cullen stopped Alistair’s motions. “A moment,” he said with a slight upcurve of his lips. “You’ll see.”

A sudden jolt shook the tower, and both men reached for the railing. The grinding gears and thumping mechanisms slowed the rotations revealing the core. It shuddered in violent bursts; tiny golden arcs beneath the surface spread outward from the center where Alistair had aimed. The arcs expanded their light cracking the red mass as though it were a fragile egg until the core simply dissolved and nothing but dust remained.

Alistair tried to speak but found his wonder had stolen all words from his tongue.

A deep inhale from Cullen preceded a half smile, and he gestured for them to descend the stairs. After two steps Cullen explained. “It’s called The Maker’s Light, something I’d worked on during my time here. The prayer is more for my nerves than the magic.”

“That was. . .I don’t know how to explain it,” Alistair said.

“It’s the melding of magic and the skills we learned in seminary. A _smite_ they used to call it, but rather than affirm reality as Templars are bidden, I feed it with magic and that creates,” he paused, “something, well, rather different. Using one of Leliana’s exploding arrowheads disperses the magic in a wider net and there you have it.”

Disbelief carried Alistair down the steps. “You say that as though you’re imparting a recipe for an evening meal; that was extraordinary.” Alistair halted once more, considering his tasks and what he could encounter. He could not insist on Cullen‘s presence, but he would ask. “Would you and Leliana consider joining me?”

Leliana shouted from her position farther down the stairwell. “Yes!”

Cullen’s hesitation concerned Alistair. “You disagree?”

Once more Leliana called from far below. “Just say _yes_ Cullen.” 


	9. Hopes and Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's aid to free the Tower does not go unrewarded. What he learns from the encounter changes his view of his past leaving an indelible mark on his future.

The First Enchanter’s office was nothing like Alistair expected. It could have belonged to anyone.  Richly  stained wood bookcases lined the walls in flawless symmetry; each immaculate shelf aligned in perfect order. Nothing gave the slightest hint to magic; Alistair couldn’t see how the office belonged to a mage. Even the desk seemed almost too perfect, missing all the signs that anyone inhabited the office at all.

“First Enchanter Lavinia is fastidious and methodical,” Cullen offered.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” Alistair looked on Cullen with a wary eye, wondering if he could read his thoughts.

“Most new arrivals have that same look of surprise when they enter here.” He chuckled, calling attention to the room with a sweeping hand gesture. “Do you know how many expect to see enormous black crows sitting on a golden perch, or a bubbling pot over a fireplace? Magic can be sophisticated and beautiful without all the theater.”

Alistair nodded, counting himself among the fools expecting a display. 

The chair provided was ill fitting; Alistair shifted several times to get comfortable. The chairs had a small desk attached and proved too cramped for adult men, but the lack of any other seating dictated they wait in the proffered desks. Cullen explained it had always been so ever since he’d arrived twelve years prior.

“Sitting in the headmaster’s office was a common thing for you then?” Alistair’s light laugh part of his jovial tease. He’d spent many boredom filled hours staring a blank wall when he was younger,  usually  in response to an ill-timed quip or joke.

Cullen’s side glance revealed a hint of a smile. “Am I to understand that a Theirin acted less than appropriate in his lessons?”

“Perish the thought,” Alistair feigned a serious tone, “I was the model student, until boredom set in-and if I’m to be honest,  I was  _ always _ bored .” He shifted as much as the small chair allowed. “You don’t strike me as a troublemaker Cullen, I picture you more the perfect student.”

Embarrassment reddened Cullen’s neck and ears. “I. . .not _entirely_ perfect.”

“But close?”

The slight wobble of Cullen’s head answered Alistair’s question before Cullen answered. “More or less.”

The two continued in conversation, their laughter fading in and out as they spoke. When the door opened, both quieted in an instant, straightening in their seats.

The First Enchanter and Templar Proctor entered together, but the First Enchanter greeted them first. “First allow me to express my gratitude. The students are leaving their dorms, and the residents are  uninjured .” A statuesque woman of some years stopped at the right of the large desk in front, allowing the Proctor to stand on the left. “The mages in the tower thank you for all you’ve done.”

Alistair tried to remember everything he’d learned over the years, thanking the First Enchanter for her kind words, but before he could explain the truth of what took place, the Proctor interrupted. 

The Templar Proctor spoke to the gratitude of the Templars but explained he could not approve Cullen’s request to leave. “There is much more for him to learn with us, and I must decline on his behalf. Unless you wish to align yourself with the Order, in which case Cullen is free to travel.”

The speed at which the First Enchanter turned on the Proctor shocked Alistair. “You would dare to challenge here and now?” She turned to face Alistair. “Your Grace, the continued support of Denerim toward our efforts to keep mages grounded is paramount to the continued existence-”

The Proctor scoffed. “Why not call them emissaries of divinity, Lavinia?”

The argument continued; Alistair looked to Cullen for help, but Cullen shook his head, a gesture which Alistair interpreted as a warning. He needed to end the argument and discover who held the next piece of the strange object, but which side would be more  advantageous ? If he sided with the Templars, then Cullen would be free to decide if he wished to travel, but siding with the mages? They had a further reach in Thedas, spreading to various nations all under the same banner.

Alistair shifted once more in his chair, uncomfortable from the small dimensions of the seat and even more so from the heated argument. Something in his pocket pressed against his leg.  _ The metal card _ , he remembered _. Choose not one that’s what it said. Is this what the card meant? _ He wondered if whoever had hidden the pieces knew this would happen, and if they did, why not be more precise?  _ They will argue, deal with it. That would have been far more helpful _ , he thought.

He stood with a little difficulty, addressing both. “Please, if I may. I could never choose one over the other as both shares an equal importance in Ferelden.” Alistair tried to think like Eamon.  _ Diplomatic and polite, don’t be an ass _ , he cautioned. “I believe Cullen would serve well, but I could not interfere nor would I conscript, as I am no longer a Warden. Thank you both for your hospitality and kindness.”

Alistair held out his hand to Cullen. “Thank you for getting us through the tower, it wouldn’t have been possible without you. When your obligations to the Order are complete, consider my offer.” Alistair smiled and addressed the room. “Thank you,” he said, saluting with his arm across his chest, giving them all a bow as befitting a Grey Warden.

With a firm hand on Cullen’s shoulder Alistair turned to leave.

The First Enchanter called out to him, her arm outstretched. “Wait!”  He turned, unsure  what remained unsaid between them. “You are nothing like your father,” she said, sidestepping around her desk, taking slow measured strides toward him. “Maric never could abide our arguing.” A smile slowing overtook her serious expression. “Please stay, Your Grace.”

“Alistair, please call me Alistair.” He waited, uncertain what had changed. “You knew Maric?”

He waited for the First Enchanter’s response, but the Proctor answered Alistair’s question. “The short answer is yes, Alistair. We knew your father well. Five of us. Lavinia and me, Bryce, Dela and Firand. Maric had entrusted each of us, his friends, with a secret; one  that  was to strengthen Ferelden, and he hoped to unite Thedas.

Astounded that his father had thought of anything so far reaching, Alistair had to know more. He pulled the two metal pieces from his pocket and revealed them to the group. “What is this?” Alistair’s eyes widened as the Proctor handed over another piece before the First Enchanter did the same.

Lavinia returned to her desk. “It’s a key,” she said, glancing toward the Proctor, “at least that’s what we think. Not one of us holds more than a little information, or a piece of the key, but we’re sure Dela Ghilain possesses the final piece and the knowledge of how they fit. Whatever it opens, you’ll find in Orzammar with Firand Ortan.”

A visible shudder drew  the attention of the others to Alistair, but Cullen rose in a quick movement. “Are you unwell?”

The mention of Dela Ghilain caught Alistair unprepared. He knew her. A most unfortunate turn of events. Unprepared to explain, he blamed fatigue for the cause of his woes. With a few  short words from Lavinia, Cullen escorted Alistair to a room, leaving him to rest with a promise to check on his companions and have the clockwork dog delivered to him.

The small window looked out over Lake Calenhad, and Alistair stared at the red and orange sky, the late afternoon hours heralding a good day for travel.  _ Red sky at night, sailor’s delight _ . An  old  adage, yes, but the reason behind it applied to his endeavors. Whatever foul weather had passed while they’d tackled the tower was behind them, and the skies should be clear.  

Dela Ghilain. The thought of the elven mage sent a shiver through Alistair. He’d disliked her when they met years ago, a forced event by the Guerrin family. Alistair was twelve  at the time,  and he wasn’t exaggerating to believe the dislike was mutual.  She’d argued with Maric  openly  about his weakened stand for the rights of all Fereldans. It wasn’t her directness or even she’d fought with Maric; what Alistair had found so unsettling was how she stared at him, or rather through him.

Dela left Ferelden years ago after a falling out with Maric and Eamon. She’d insisted on inclusion of elven innovations, which Maric overlooked citing his belief that those who refused to live in the cities couldn’t  possibly  offer anything worthwhile.  Duncan had taken Dela to Rivain in the north, and Alistair groaned at the prospect of invading the Raiders of the Skies territory, for it would guarantee an escort by Isabela or one of her ships.

Stretched out on the mattress, Alistair stared out the window watching the late afternoon sky melt into dark trying to decipher why Maric had given anything to Dela considering their volatility.

_ I doubt she’ll agree to see me _ , he thought, ready to concede failure rather than face Dela. He was young, the first time they’d met, and even though Eamon schooled and drilled Alistair on how to act, it was she who refused to be civil.

_ For days Alistair listened to Duncan and Eamon’s instructions wondering if he were a guest or a trained animal set out to perform. At twelve, he’d  _ _ benefitted from _ _ years of private schooling, excelling in his studies. The one issue with Alistair centered on his often caustic and  _ _ sharp _ _ tongue; most overlooked the sarcasm given his age and blamed his behavior on his father-well known for his often brash remarks. _

_ “Alistair,” Duncan said his voice low and calm sought to reassure the young man. Heavy hands rested on his shoulders, a means of keeping Alistair focused. “Your father has instructed me to facilitate a few introductions. Do you remember the Lady Dela?” _

_ “Yes, Duncan,” the exasperation clear in Alistair’s response. He tired of hearing about Dela Ghilain. “The elf mage, right? Got it.” He jerked forward as someone pushed him from behind, turning to see Eamon with his arms crossed and  _ _ clearly  _ _ unhappy with Alistair. “Ow, that hurt!” _

_ “No it didn’t, don’t whine and Maker help you if you call the Lady Dela a mage.” Eamon shifted Alistair to face him. “Lady Ghilain, that’s all you say, ‘yes, Lady Ghilain’, ‘no thank you, Lady Ghilain’, are we clear?” _

_ “I’ve got it. Enough already. Shall I kneel or bow or offer to kiss her bloody ring too?” _

_ Duncan and Eamon exchanged a glance, but Duncan replied first. “Alistair, please do not curse or incite the lady’s anger. We are trying to renew relations with her clan.” _

_ “So, let Cailan do whatever you need me to do. I’m young, remember? I’m liable to mess this up.” _

Shaking the memory free from his thoughts, Alistair laughed. “I  did mess it up, and then some.”  Alistair couldn’t dwell on past mistakes. He had far more difficult decisions ahead concerning Lisette Cousland and her shadow, Morrigan, but to decide without a full comprehension of these constructs wasn’t  entirely  fair.

“Plus, you promised a dying man your protection of his family,” he said aloud. Hearing the words seemed to add weight to his concern, and he wondered what more the First Enchanter and Proctor might know. 

Bells rang through the tower, their purpose unknown. Roused to his feet, Alistair chose his destination and slipped from his room.  Conversations at varying volumes passed him; small clusters of mages and Templars recounting their respective ordeal under the tower’s corruption. Most paused when he approached, recognizing Alistair with a smile and a nod. He wasn’t used to the attention. Alistair excelled at staying hidden in plain sight, never calling attention to himself, but circumstances had changed, and Alistair had little choice.

l-l-l

Mouth agape, Alistair stared at the pair sitting across from him. “You’re. . .you’re,” he paused shaking  the confusion from his head, “you’re married?”

The First Enchanter laughed, patting the Proctor’s hand. “ The bickering didn’t give it away?”  The two smiled at one another before turning their attention to Alistair.

“First Enchanter,” Alistair began to speak, but she  interrupted him .

“Lavinia. I insist,” she said. “Andrus and I will help you in any way we can. We owe your father far more than we can ever give.”

“Maric?”

Andrus without his Templar robes seemed far less imposing, in fact both together, so lighthearted and accommodating made Alistair wonder if this is what it was like to have parents. “Tell me something Alistair. Why call your father by his proper name? I’ve noticed it a few times through our meal and just then.”

It was a question others had asked him far too many times and in most cases Alistair would  simply  shrug off the questioner, but these people had invited him into their privacy and he felt compelled to answer. “I don’t know him.” Alistair sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t say I ever tried. The Guerrins took me in and gave me a home. The younger Eamon is perhaps as much a brother as Cailan is. . .was.”

Neither prodded nor commented, allowing Alistair to collect his thoughts and continue. “Sorry,” he said with a half smile, “it’s still all so odd. Cailan and Duncan.” Closing his eyes, Alistair denied the encroaching sadness. “I met Maric once or twice, maybe three times. I have to guess his absence had to do with my mother’s death; perhaps he blamed me for losing her. I assumed that had to be the reason he avoided me.”

Lavinia stood abruptly . “Oh Maric!” She paced behind the table. “You absolute  _ idiot _ ,” she hissed to no one in particular. She turned to Andrus and instructed him to hand over their cards. “We each held half of the message. You must go to Rivain. Find Dela Ghilain.”

Two thin metal cards slid toward Alistair along the tabletop; the cards were  similar to to the one he received from Eamon. Hand hammered metal delivering its etched message.

_ Seek the Lady of the Woods.   _ _ Be not burdened _ _. _

Whoever had written these messages must have thought the vague statements sounded more mysterious, but Alistair found them frustrating and unhelpful. “More cryptic messages. Whatever happened to  _ x marks the spot _ or  _ here’s the secret knock,  _ or something more helpful.”  He cringed realizing he’d spoken aloud, but soft laughter and knowing looks told him he was among friends.

Reaching for the second, Andrus shook his head. “That one’s no better, I’ m afraid .” 

_ A visible scar fades in time. Hidden ones never quite heal.   _

“Oh  _ come on _ now,” Alistair complained. “Do you know what this is? This is. . .this is someone taking themselves far too seriously . What does all this accomplish?”

“Get the book, Vi.” Andrus gestured toward the wall. “This is your first real test. Your father loved ridiculous games like this -treasure hunts, secret messages and the most tedious list of menial tasks all to get to some magnificent prize that was  really  nothing special.” He accepted the large brown book and placed it on the table. “Here, that’s everything we had  the presence of  mind to hang on to. Maybe it will help you learn more about your father.”

Alistair rested his hand atop the book, his chest tightening. Swallowing hard, he  asked the question that fluttered in his stomach. “Does he still live?”  Alistair did not miss the pointed look passing between his hosts. “Ah, then you believe as Eamon, and this is a fool’s errand to think I will find Maric.”

Lavinia’s expression softened, quiet steps brought her closer to Alistair. “Your father lives, at least I believe it so, but right now you must find Dela. She will help you.”

Alistair rose and scoffed. “ I doubt that very much.  I have a tendency to say the wrong things at the right time and Lady Ghilain presented the perfect moment.  I would wager she won’t even receive me, no matter who my father is.”

“Don’t be too sure.” Lavinia tapped the side of her nose as if the gesture meant to impart secret knowledge. “It takes more than a few sarcastic words to anger Dela. You misunderstood what took place at the event that night. With permission?”

He may have been young, but at twelve Alistair felt confident in his memories from that evening.  _ What harm is there to hear a different point of view?  _ The simple act of refilling their glasses began her story.

_ “Look at him, Vi,” Andrus whispered, “he’s Maric’s all right. He’s what-eleven and already towers above Eamon.” _

_ Lavinia leaned against her husband, careful to keep her voice low. “Twelve,” she corrected. “Now remember, if Maric’s nervous indecisiveness flares-” _

_ Andrus interrupted her. “I know Vi, I need to remind him he promised Dela.” A gentle side squeeze carried his affection. “And you must keep the lady from overreacting to every word Maric says.” _

_ She scoffed. “Which one of us got the easier task, I ask you? Dela is already on edge that Maric won’t keep his promise.” Lavinia gestured toward Dela’s targeted  _ _ approach _ _ to Alistair. “Oh that is not  _ _ good _ _. I should go, but you find Maric.” _

_ Andrus hurried toward the private quarters while his wife navigated through the crowded hall. Lavinia noted Dela’s court dress, a simple sheath dress, a rich emerald green. “At least she left the staff and pelts aside for one night.” Lavinia had counseled Dela to dress the part of courtier even if she despised the Game; she needed to play it-just this one night.  Dela acted out for the shock value of her actions,  _ _ highly  _ _ educated _ _ , well versed and respected in the North where her exploits and contributions met with accolades over scrutiny. Ferelden was still a very divided country.  _ _ Maric orchestrated this  _ _ grand affair  _ _ to change all that. _

_ When Lavinia arrived, young Alistair struggled to make conversation. _

_ “I don’t know many elfs. . .err elves? _ _ ” _ _ The young man sighed. “I’m sorry, I  _ _ really  _ _ don’t mean to  _ _ sound rude _ _ , and it  _ _ just  _ _ seems to fall out, when I  _ _ really  _ _ should learn to keep quiet.” He looked around the room before continuing. “So, Lady Ghilain? Do you know the king- I mean, my father?” His shoulders dropped before he added, “I’ll just stop talking now. I’m sorry.” The young man hurried through the crowd and out into the gardens. _

_“Maric did this,” Dela said, glaring at Lavinia. “That boy deserves as much as Cailan, not shoved off like a dirty secret._ _I_ _knew it._ _I_ _knew this would happen._ _I_ _never should_ _have trusted that man.”_

_ “Dela, please. Alistair is young.” _

_ Shifting on her feet Dela stared off toward the gardens. “This is not Alistair’s doing. This is Maric and his. . .his prejudices,” her anger clear in her taut words, Dela quieted her voice. “If I had been allowed _ _ to _ _ raise him-as I wanted to-Alistair would have a sense of value and purpose in this world. My son deserves better than this. . .this. . .this lie.” _

The chair almost toppled in Alistair's surprise. “Her. . .her son?” Confusion pulled him to his feet. “That elf. . .the woman I met. . .no. . .she’s. . .but. . .how?” Bewilderment had stolen his ability to speak, his heart thundering in his chest.  _ My mother is not dead. Why would Duncan–why would anyone tell me otherwise?  _ Feet stumbled, his head swimming with thoughts of what he knew and what he had only just learned.

Lavinia reached for Alistair’s hand, lending him strength to steady him. “Alistair, Lady Delaryn Ghilain  _ is _ your mother.”


	10. The Lonely Path of Atonement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The identity of Alistair's mother weighs on his thoughts, driving him to seek solitude aboard the Hero. Cullen is sent to offer a sympathetic ear, but what follows gives Alistair a closer look at Cullen's tragic past.

An active mind pushed the possibility of sleep from Alistair’s night; he couldn’t reconcile that his mother lived. He remarked only once in his sleepless night he doubted the truth because he looked nothing like an elf, spending hours staring at his reflection.

The rest of his night he indulged in memories given to him in the guise of an overstuffed book. Grainy pictures, smudged letters and small trinkets cluttered every page. He didn’t know _this_ Maric, the smiling man, the friend. There were letters from Cailan’s mother, Catelin to Lavinia sharing anecdotes of Maric annoying the Arls with his antics or the first time he tried one of Bryce’s contraptions and broke his nose.

Alistair couldn’t deny the smile he wore delving into each page. Catelin’s death announcement shook him more than expected. She’d been so young and the gap between her death and the influx of letters took years, but when Alistair found a letter from Maric to Lavinia crowing about Dela’s pregnancy, Alistair slammed the book shut shoving it toward the end of the bed.

_Duncan told me my mother died. Why?_

The question plagued Alistair’s mind even when the Hero left Redcliffe. Despite his relief at Cullen’s reprieve to join him, Alistair disappeared into the Crow’s nest as soon as the Hero released her moorings, preferring to separate from everyone alone with his thoughts.

Alistair loved the solitude he could find while traveling by airship; high above the troubles on the land below, the only sounds to reach his ears the rushing winds and the occasional muffled bell from the deck. _I’m not angry at Duncan_ , he thought, _but why lie?_ He breathed deep, letting the invigorating chill flow through him, clearing his lungs. _Maric_ , Alistair concluded, _that’s why Duncan lied. Maric told him to keep the truth from me._

The knotted rope ladder stretched and creaked under the weight of someone climbing toward Alistair’s perch. He shifted from the center, leaving enough room for whoever sought to join him. _I’ll assume it’s Cullen, I’m not quite ready to think on Lady Cousland just yet._ He’d avoided dealing with Lisette, hoping a solution would present itself removing the burden from his hands.

“Your Grace!” 

Alistair rolled his eyes at the use of the title. Another little problem he preferred would go away. He fixed a smile to his face and peered down; waving his hand to Cullen as he ascended the rope.

Cullen took to the airship faster than expected; Alistair suspected it the first time Cullen had traveled outside the confines of the tower and grounds.  “Your Grace,” Cullen repeated, “may I join you?”

Alistair offered his hand and helped Cullen step free of the rope. “Only if you call me Alistair,” he said, amused by Cullen’s wide-eyed wonder. “First time on an airship?” Cullen’s quick glance and emphatic nod coaxed a laugh. “I was like that too, it took about,” Alistair paused, forehead scrunching while he thought, “about eight years before I stopped gaping all the time, but it’s still incredible no matter how long it’s been.” Alistair shifted to face Cullen. “Now, care to tell me what drove you to climb all the way up here?”   
  
“Leliana. She sent me. I can’t be sure if it was to offer an ear or to get rid of me. Either way, if you’d care to talk, I’m willing to listen otherwise I’m quite content to sit here and let them think we’re talking.”   
  
Despite Cullen's offer, Alistair changed the subject preferring to learn more about Cullen and the Templars. “Had you always wanted to be a Templar? I’d considered it when I was younger, but I decided on joining the Wardens.”   
  
Cullen's voice changed as he answered, words carrying a greater weight. “In my family, one serves. There is no choice. _The Rutherford name carries an honor to it Cullen, and you will follow the path of so many before you_ ,” Cullen coughed. “I was eight when my father informed me I would be leaving.”

The weight of expectations placed on a young child rang familiar to Alistair. “I can’t say I understand, our situations were different, but I know how I felt being discarded, even branded as evil and a danger to my brother Cailan.”

Cullen hummed in response, but when he spoke, Alistair had to strain to hear. “The difference between us is I am a danger. I was too young to go to the Wardens, and so the Tower became my home.”

 _Sent to the Wardens_ , Alistair considered Cullen’s words before asking his question. “Why would you? It’s a life sentence, surely at eight years you’d done nothing-”

“You really don’t know? I thought-” Cullen coughed. “I thought you came to take me to the Wardens when we first received Redcliffe’s message.”

Leliana had asked a similar question, and Alistair didn’t understand. “Know what? The Arl’s son sent me to retrieve pieces of the key and information. Nothing more. I swear it.”

Head and shoulders caved forward.  “There are. . . things I must atone for, debts that must be repaid. Andrus offered me a path, and I gladly took it, but I fear it nothing will ever be enough.”

“Cullen, I haven’t lived long enough to choose anything I need to atone for quite yet. Maybe you’re-”

“You don’t understand!” Cullen quieted his voice, the slight lean of his body toward the edge reminded Alistair he should have insisted on a safety rig for Cullen. Instead of responding to the outburst, Alistair remained silent waiting for Cullen. “I killed my family. There is no greater crime.” Breath hitched, he rubbed his face with his hands releasing a near growl of exasperation. “Now do you understand?”

“But . . .how. . .when?” The pain on Cullen’s face appeared genuine, and the slight tremor to his hands quickly realized and fists clenched to hide the action.

His loud inhale and nosier exhalation carried so much pain. “It was three days before my eighth birthday.”

Alistair said nothing and listened.

_Ferelden was nothing like the Marches, and Cullen preferred the riverbanks and forests to the isolation at Jainen. His father the Knight Commander, stationed at the port of Jainen had accepted the new assignment hoping his children would benefit from a more structured upbringing._

_The only thing Cullen and his twin brother Kinnon loved about Jainen was the vast library housed at what was once the Circle tower. After three months in Jainen, a decision was made._

_Home was a house near to the docks, a place where the lighthouse light shined through the bedroom windows at night while it guarded the fragile coast. Bells rang in the distance, warning of rough seas. The brothers waited in their room with Marta, the youngest at five years old, taking turns reading from a storybook to pass the time. Marta had fallen asleep at some point leaving the boys to their reading._

_A sharp rap on the bedroom door startled the two boys._

_“Cullen! Kinnon! Downstairs, now.”_

_Exchanging a glance Cullen shrugged, wondering why their father’s request sounded like an order. “Did you do something?” Kinnon had always been the more mischievous of the two, but they’d spent the day together and Cullen saw nothing that could have angered their father. Kinnon swore he’d done nothing. Even at eight Cullen proved to be the more mature of the two boys, often covering for his brother’s missteps. The two stood and hurried to respond, deciding to let their sister sleep._

_Cullen knew better than to anger his father, he’d not lay a hand on either of them, but their father’s piercing eyes and disapproving frown often frightened him more than any punishment. Both brothers wanted their father’s favor._

_The two followed in silence, wondering what waited at the bottom of the stairs. Cullen reached the landing just after his father and turned his attention to the fireplace. A Templar in full dress uniform waited with a water goblet in his hands. Taller than Cullen’s father, the man’s long brown hair was braided and hung past his shoulders.  Kinnon elbowed Cullen’s ribs. They knew the uniform. The Templar in their home was from the Spire. A heavy silver breastplate ended at the man’s waist; the sash tied around him reached to his ankles. Its maroon color and thick gold stripe a prized accessory for any Templar._

_Their father had earned his two years prior. There was something about the armor that called to Cullen, but he had no desire to join their ranks or follow his father’s path. The man turned, a long scar catching Cullen’s attention. It cut an angry path from his eyebrow along the jawline and cheeks until it stopped below his chin. Cullen stared until the Templar coughed._

_“A pirate thought I’d looked at him for far too long.” The man traced his finger along his scar. “Gave me this to remind me not to stare.”_

_Stiffening at the Templar’s words, Cullen looked away, face burning in embarrassment. The reaction raised a hearty laugh from the Templar. “Easy boy, I’m telling a tale. A miscalculation when I was younger in a sparring match, remember even a dull sword can injure you if you’re not careful.” He glanced at Cullen’s father and back to the boys. “Which of you is Cullen?”_

_Cullen stepped forward. “I am,” he said. A cough from his father behind him reminded Cullen of his manners. “Ser.”_

_The Templar nodded. “Ser Cullen Rutherford has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Big shoes to fill, you’re not the first to wear the name, and the Order expects much from the legacy of the Rutherford family. Prepare to leave at dawn Cullen.”_

_Shock opened his mouth and defiance spoke where it never had before. “No, I don’t want to go.”_

_“Cullen!” The sharpness in his father’s voice startled both boys, but it was Kinnon’s hand grabbing Cullen’s that forced their father to end the evening._

_The boys stood hands clasped tight while the father ushered the Templar out promising all would be sorted by morning. While the conversation lingered at the entryway. Cullen and Kinnon stood as one. They’d never been apart, not since their mother passed when Marta was born. They had no where to go alone on the island, both knowing even the fisherman wouldn’t interfere with the Knight Commander. There was no way out. Cullen would have to leave his brother and sister and be alone._

_He felt the sting of tears in his eyes and angrily fought them back, releasing his brother’s hand. Cullen confronted his father as he shut the door. “I don’t want to go.”_

_“What you want matters little, my son. This is who you must become. Kinnon and Marta will write as will you, but my decision is final. You leave tomorrow.” For a moment, Cullen saw the harsh lines in his father’s face soften, and he crouched to meet his son’s eyes. “I have such faith in you, you will serve with honor.”_

_Small fists tightened; shoulders and neck snapped to a rigid posture. “I said. . .NO!” Cullen bellowed, tears falling while his breathing sped. He’d never defied his father, not once, but Cullen swore he’d never leave. His face reddened, and the heat rose in his hands and head until Cullen could not breathe._

_Kinnon’s eyes widened, and he stammered over Cullen’s name. “Your hands. . .what’s wrong with your hands?”  Frightened steps pushed Kinnon back toward the wall._

_Panic at the fear on his twin’s face cut through him. It was only then Cullen saw the flames. He gulped for air pleading for his father. “What’s . . .I can’t. . .papa I can’t stop it!”_

_The surrounding floor ignited in blinding fury, wood cracked and popped as the flames around Cullen spread across the floor. His father moved quickly, grabbing his sword from its perch. “Maker forgive me. Cullen forgive me.” His father raised the sword preparing to strike, Cullen terrified at what his father planned to do. Suddenly his father stumbled forward, and a book fell near Cullen’s feet, igniting into flames. “Kin, no, you mustn’t try to stop me. Think of your sister.”_

_When his father turned to face Kinnon, he threw another object at his father’s face. “Cullen! Run! Run away! Hurry!”_

_The flames followed Cullen’s flight into the night, a cry of alarm rising from the neighboring homes. Cullen understood one thing; he needed to reach the sea. Turning toward the docks, Cullen saw the Templar on the path toward the Inn and screamed for help. A blinding flash knocked Cullen to the ground, his head smacking the dirt path with such force his vision blurred. A second more powerful wave squelched the flames and as Cullen’s vision narrowed in his pain, his head turned toward his home to see a blazing fire reaching high into the night sky._

Cullen cleared the emotions from his throat several times before he finished. “My father, my brother and my little sister died in the fires. My magic killed those I loved.”

The right words to offer eluded Alistair finding nothing other sympathies; he offered the first words that came to mind. “You were young, couldn’t control it. No one would ever hold a child responsible. Had you come from a known family, they would have suppressed your abilities or watched you closely for signs. Cullen, the tragic loss of your family was not intentional. You are no criminal.”

He shook his head, gentle disagreement seeping through his quieted voice. “If only that were true.” Cullen met Alistair’s silence with a question. “Do you claim responsibility in your mind for your brother’s death?”

Alistair’s voice caught. “Yes,” he croaked, “I. . .I . . .should have done more. I could have done more.”

"And yet, you are no criminal.”

 _Aren’t I though?_ Alistair fixated on his hands. _I should have seen to Cailan’s safety first,_ he thought, _I should have forced him to go. It is my fault he died on the Ostagar._

“Forgive me, I’ve upset you,” Cullen said. “I came to offer an ear, not burden you further.”

He wasn’t upset. Alistair has mistakenly thought to set Cullen’s heart at ease. “No, you’re right. I do and will continue to believe I could have changed Cailan’s fate.” Alistair sighed. “I need your help Cullen, but I will make you a promise,” Alistair began, “at the end of this journey, if you wish to join the Wardens, I will help you-Chantry and your Order’s wishes aside. I give you my word.”

Cullen straightened. “You would. . .you would do that?”

“I would. If joining the Wardens is what you want most, then I will make it happen.” Even as he spoke the oath, Alistair hoped Cullen would forgive himself for the past _. Perhaps we both will find our way._

Alistair shifted the conversation. “Tell me something Cullen, have you ever been to Rivain?”

“No, but I’ve heard stories.”  

 Leaning back against the mast, Alistair closed his eyes. “It’s like being in a whole new world, my friend. Words aren’t sufficient, warnings will do no good; when we arrive, forget everything you think you know about the pirates and nomadic tribes.”

The light chuckle signaled a shift in mood. “Anything else I should know?”

“Don’t drop your guard, not even when you sleep.” Alistair paused. “On second thought, maybe sleeping isn’t a good idea.”

 

l-l-l

Ages past, the sea docks around Rivain and the nearby islands often presented difficulties for legitimate travelers and smugglers alike, but as the ships rose from the sea to the air, Rivain had little choice but to rise with them. Llomerynn, the Raider’s home base laid claim to some of the most talented engineers and crewman a ship captain could hope to enlist.  

Lisette had chosen the destination. At first, her presumption to direct the Hero bothered Alistair; he hadn’t decided if Lisette and Morrigan should continue with him at all. On the approach to the Island, Lisette tried to engage Alistair in conversation.

“It wasn’t your fault, Alis- Your Grace.” She’d corrected herself midsentence, but her stilted and quiet delivery seemed forced.

“Don’t bother. Call me whatever you want,” Alistair said. “I know what you’re thinking because it will be the same thought shared by many. Why couldn’t it have been him?” He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. “So sorry to disappoint, my lady.” He leaned on the rail, the decent of the Hero taking them below the clouds until their quiet serenity met the turbulent air of the sea, and the Hero bounced once before continuing its decent.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she said, ignoring his comments. “I know what causes it and I still feel it, you know?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to make conversation and I’m the one who is rude.”

The sound she made sounded like a cross between a sigh and a hum. “Llomerynn is where we’ll find Lady Ghilain, that’s why I changed our course. The Hero is your ship. I sought to save you time, not take her from you.” Lisette waited a moment, opened her mouth and then thought better, turning to leave. His soft offer of thanks stopped her retreat. “I spent two years with Delaryn Ghilain at my father’s insistence,” she offered, steering clear of heavier topics. “She’s unique, fair warning.” 

Lisette didn’t linger. When Alistair turned to address her, she’d nearly reached the main cabin forcing him to quicken his steps. He wasn’t sure what to say, but Lisette had tried to talk with him, he owed her at least something. “Be cautious, we’re we are headed is no place for wandering.”

The smile on her face disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “Who do you think assisted the Lady with the Raiders and their requests? I did. Isabela? She’s a friend. I’ve helped her more times than I can count.” She waved his concern away. “I’m more concerned for you, Llomerynn is unlike any place else.”

He scoffed. “I’ve been to Diarsmuid at least half a dozen times; I know what it’s like. I can handle it.” Alistair wouldn’t give in to her smug satisfaction.  “The stories are far worse than the reality.”

She coughed to hide her laughter. “Diarsmuid? If that city is your basis for comparison, you’d better stick close to your escort. Llomerynn might shock you.”

  

l-l-l

The largest airship dock sat ready for them, a large contingent gathered on the walkway to greet them. Standing atop two supply crates waited Isabela. The crew of the Hero eased their ship closer to the metal pylons until the hollow thud of the hull against the spacers indicated they’d arrived, bringing Isabela to wait at the gang plank.

“Impressive!” Cullen exclaimed. “I’ve never seen its equal.”

Isabela grinned. “Aren’t you sweet? Thanks for the compliment, but we’ve no time for pleasantries.”

“He meant the docking, Isabela,” Alistair retorted. “Not everything is about you.”

A slight wink in Alistair’s direction preceded a wave of orders. Pointing at the small group gathered, Isabela requested all but Morrigan follow her; when Morrigan tried to join the group, Isabela blocked the way. “Sorry, sweets. Private party and _you’re_ not invited-Lady’s orders.” She held out a key. “There’s a room reserved for you at the Dockside Inn. Your escort waits for you at the end of the walkway.”

It was clear in Morrigan’s seething glare she didn’t take lightly to the slight. After a few hushed words from Lisette, Morrigan left the group to join her escort.

Lisette turned on Isabela. “That was a little rude.”

“Lizzy, I have no problem with the witch, but the Lady’s orders were specific.” Isabela shrugged. “Would you have defied her?” Squeezing between Alistair and Cullen, Isabela teased the pair. “A Templar and a Princeling, I’m in heaven.”

Lisette rolled her eyes reminding Isabela of Lady Ghilain’s famed impatience. “Now is not the time.”

“You’re no fun,” Isabela said, “but your point is well taken, we should go.” She turned to face the group, all traces of her playfulness gone. “Watch your step. You’re under the protection of my men and the Lady, but Llomerynn holds no loyalties in the shadows.”

 

l-l-l

Alistair couldn’t do it. He couldn’t allow Lisette to see his awe, but Alistair couldn’t take in everything around him fast enough to keep up with Isabela’s march through crowded pathways. Progress demanded higher and higher structures, but at first glance Alistair swore he had traveled through time to an earlier age. Weathered metal siding rusted at the joints and corners showing its age.

Towers of metal and stone relied on bridges constructed of wood and ropes, anchored to stones built into the structures. Rope ladders of all lengths allowed the more adventurous to descend or climb at a faster rate of speed. The path took a circuitous route allowing the group to see what Alistair described as organized chaos.

Makeshift lifts hoisted by long ropes carried crates and barrels to varying waystations where workers scrambled to remove the contents before the lift moved to its next destination. Fights and skirmishes seemed to occur without warning, and with a sharp whistle from Isabela or others in Raider’s colors along the way, the offending parties shoved each other amicably and returned to their work.

Deckhands and dockworkers alike swung from ropes or climbed structures shouting instructions above and below, and underneath it all music rose from somewhere far removed; drums kept time for those hoisting their wares while a driving tune from strings and flutes compelled all to their tasks. For Alistair it was glorious.     

So engrossed in the rhythm of the docks, Alistair missed much of Isabela’s rushed tour, until they reached the market.

She cautioned the group not to venture inside alone. “Ferelden coin holds no value; the Lady will secure whatever you need. Think before you enter here, the price for some things is greater than gold.” She shifted through the group to reach Alistair, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “The going rate on a dead princeling is rather high, _don’t_ fall behind again.” When she pulled back, a smile crossed her face and with a wink, she resumed their tour.

Her warning raised his awareness of the people around them, noting eyes following their progress. He didn’t care if her warning proved to be a ruse or the truth, every person glancing their way ignited suspicion. Even when they’d reached a small steam filled alcove of food stalls Alistair refused, despite the complaints from his empty stomach. _Vigilance_ , he chided silently. When Alistair refused, the others followed, insisting they continue to their destination.

“This _is_ our destination,” she said, instructing the food carts to move aside. It took a moment to realize the steam didn’t originate from the carts, but a massive structure hidden in shadow. It stood apart from the dock area, but no one else crossed the bridge toward the alcove.

“Lady Ghilain doesn’t take well to the unannounced,” Isabela offered. “Lucky for us, we’re expected.” In the corner of the alcove a long chain with a wooden handle swung free. Alistair could make out a long metal tube high above them and guessed the chain activated a door although the smooth metal of the wall showed no opening large enough to serve as an entrance.

Curiosity turned Alistair around to face the dockside structures again, only to see the food carts departing the area. “Where are they going?”

“They are not invited.” Isabela pulled on the chain setting a series of events in motion. From somewhere below them the slow crank of a gear and chain ticked away the seconds. Metal guards rose along two sides of the alcove platform, sealing them in.

Cullen reacted first, pulling his sword. “What is the meaning of this? Release us.” Leliana prepared, pulling a dagger from her boot. Only Alistair and Lisette remained calm, but Alistair pressed Isabela for an answer.

“Relax, little Templar, I promise you are in no danger, not from me at least,” she said before pointing to the railing. “You might want to hang onto something, the trip takes a little getting used to and isn’t always kind to first timers.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on Isabela, Alistair gripped the metal bar just as the floor dropped several inches. He flinched from the unexpected movement but guessed the entrance to whatever they sought lay below. A second lurch lowered the platform again, and the scraping sound of metal against metal only solidified his belief. Alistair bent his knees just a little to prepare for what he thought would be a sudden drop.

Once more, gears and chains turned beneath them, and the platform sunk slowly farther down the side of the metal structure. Looking to his companions, he saw no fear or concern on Lisette’s face, Leliana and Cullen spoke in whispers and Isabela simply grinned at him. Through their descent he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next. _Who are you Lady Ghilain?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	11. The Memory of Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair waits nervously to meet his mother. What he finds is the truth behind a cherished memory and the key to his next step.

The metal lift landed with a thud, and without a word Isabela pulled out a dagger using the pommel to bang on the wall. Somewhere beyond, gears turned and complained at waking. Astonishment carried Alistair closer as a sliver of light sliced through the dark and two doors began a slow trek apart from one another. “What _is_ this place?”

Lisette answered him. “You know the Shop of Wonders in Denerim.” Alistair nodded in agreement. “This? This is the workshop of a _genius_. The wonders created here are unlike any you have seen or likely will see anywhere else.”                             

In a few short sentences, something about Lisette changed for Alistair. For the first time since they had met, Lisette seemed almost happy and the lightness of her being fascinated him. Where he had seen scorn and judgement, soft curves and an inviting grin pulled his focus to her face and he smiled in return, until he realized his mistake. With so many nearby, they’d notice him staring.

Scolding himself to look elsewhere, Alistair did the opposite, trying to guess the color of her eyes in the dim light. _She has those eyes._ He blinked and forced himself to look away. _Of course she eyes, you idiot. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a woman smile. Stop staring and pay attention._ He glanced at her once more and saw the harsh scrutiny he’d been accustomed to thus far.

“Is something wrong Alistair?”

He stumbled over his words before mumbling something about some dirt on her jacket. Had she looked rather than simply brushed it away, she’d have caught him in the lie, but the doors opened saving Alistair from speaking further. Isabela clapped her hands ushering everyone inside waiting for Alistair; she slipped her arm through his leaning close enough to whisper, “very smooth, little princeling. You might want to work on that.”  With a light laugh she shrugged free and hurried to the front of the group.

Inside giant gears and turbines clicked and whirred, white steam expelled from large brass fluted bells warming the air. He could see shadows in the steam plumes moving around the equipment laughing and shouting as they worked.

Alistair wanted to take in all he could, but his concerns about meeting Lady Ghilain diverted his attention. Even as they walked through halls of remarkable machines, Alistair disregarded curiosities all around him. _What do I call her? Lady Ghilain? Dela? Mother?_ A quick glance showed him a fair distance from the group and Alistair tested the word aloud. “Mother. Motherrr.” He scoffed. “It sounds strange.” _I can’t be sure she even wants to see me. I’ve done well enough without a family so far, no reason to get my smalls in a twist over this._

So focused on his thoughts, Alistair almost walked into Lisette, but her outstretched hand prevented the collision. It took a moment for him to realize Lisette spoke; he apologized offering a weak smile before his brow furrowed.

“You’re worried, but you needn’t be,” she offered, taking her hand away.

He followed the slow retreat of her arm and wondered why she’d touched him at all, concluding it nothing more than it seemed. “I’m not,” he lied hoping she’d leave him to his thoughts, but the determination she’d shown many times before surfaced in a disbelieving stare. Conceding the truth in posture and a brief sigh, Alistair amended his answer. “All right, I am worried. This. . .this is a mistake. We should go.”

Lisette checked behind her and took a step closer. “What if one of us stayed with you, would that help? Cullen would no doubt accompany you to offer support as would Leliana. I can ask one of them if you like.”

He nodded at first and then changed his mind. “The lady was your mentor; do you think she would accept someone unknown to her?”

“You want me to go with you, is that it?” Lisette tried to hide her amusement. “So we call a truce long enough to meet your mother?” The hint of a smirk on her face tinged his ears with growing embarrassment

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he turned away, he words picking speed. “I only meant that you know Lady Ghilain, and I wondered if she would allow someone else to overhear a conversation with me, and there is still no proof she’ll even-”

“Alistair. Dela wants to see you. We wouldn’t have gotten this far unless that were true.” In a series of small moves Lisette faced him once again. “I’ll go with you. I owe you that much.”

“Owe me? What for?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, you want me to admit it, I will.” Alistair tried to stop her from continuing, but Lisette persisted with her explanation. “You arrived in time to help me and my parents in Highever, then somehow won them over setting me up for one of the most intense admonishments I had ever received in my life and then? Then you didn’t leave me in Redcliffe, discarded for continuing my father’s work. I was certain you and Cullen had plotted to have me arrested or confined.”  She tugged on her bottom lip. “The point is, I’ve been beyond wretched with you since you arrived to help me, and I’ve done nothing in return.” She took a breath. “So, Your Grace, I shall accompany you until you say otherwise; first as a silent supporter while you meet with the lady and then wherever the journey takes us.”

Alistair couldn’t find his voice; he’d been unprepared for her admission. Unsure what to say, he managed a single nod. A part of him thanked the Maker he’d been unable to speak; the truth would have tumbled out of his mouth without thinking-he’d not yet decided how he felt about the constructs. His concerns sparked a topic of conversation he felt almost certain Lady Ghilain might address. The constructs-what they were and how they were made still troubled him.

The far end of the immense room held a single lift; Isabela warned of the tight squeeze and suggested the group split. Cullen and Alistair would wait while the others rode first.  Alistair’s awareness told him Cullen studied his behavior, but the planning of acceptable topics and questions for his mother kept him occupied until Cullen interrupted him.

“You’ve been distressed since we left Redcliffe.” Cullen’s speech slowed. Alistair had witnessed this a few times; Cullen often weighed his words before speaking. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m all right.” _Actually, no. I’m a bit of a mess_ , he thought, _I’m about to meet my mother and I’m sure I’ll make a fool of myself._ Alistair rocked on his feet for a moment, a nervous tick from when he was younger.

“When I’m nervous, I count my steps. I have since I was young.”

The admission from Cullen struck Alistair as odd, but no different from his childhood quirks. “I’ve never tried that, does it work?”

“Not really,” Cullen said as the lift returned and opened for them, “it keeps my thoughts from spinning away with me.” Cullen gestured for Alistair to enter first. “It’s all about shifting your attention to something else, but the cause isn’t handled, merely quieted for a time.”

Alistair shifted to allow Cullen room. “So what you’re saying is, I’m still a bit mad, but these little tricks will stop whatever it is from making me seem less foolish?”

“More or less.” The two shared a quick laugh as the doors closed and the lift began to rise.

“Nice to know I’m not alone in my madness, Cullen.”

 

l-l-l

The only thing Alistair could thing to do with hands was hide them behind his back. He’d said nothing when the lady sent Lisette away with the others leaving him without his hoped for support.

He stood silent as the lady spoke in a hushed voice with Isabela; the longer they spoke the more urgent the lady’s words grew until she raised her voice. “I don’t care who it angers, _Captain_. If you want free reign in my city to continue, you _will_ find him. Bring the assassin here.”

“What? You want me to go now?” Isabela’s casual response caused Alistair to wince in preparation for what no doubt would be an even richer response from Lady Ghilain. What he wasn’t prepared for was the quiet sarcasm that fell instead.

“No, I thought we could take tea and chat for a while about the _wonderful_ work the Raiders have done -at least _my son_ still lives.” She raised her hand toward Alistair. “When this is over we will have a very direct conversation as to the meaning of the word _protection_.” Crossing the room, she activated the lift. “Now get out and go find that assassin. I want him here by morning or you’ll actually have to pay for repairs to your ship.”

 Isabela mouthed a quick _good luck_ toward Alistair taking her time to reach the lift. His attention shifted to his mother. She gripped the back of a desk chair and for a moment, he swore she choked back a sob, the intensity of emotion worrisome. “Are you. . .are you all right?”

Head tilted down she held him away with a raised hand, but when she spoke the emotion carried in her words revealed it a lie. “I. . .yes. A moment.” She straightened, eyes closed and breathing deep, the lady composed herself before speaking again. “I am truly sorry for Cailan’s loss. He tried so very hard to be there for you, and I had hoped the protection I set in place for you both would be enough when Maric disappeared, but I should have done more. I’m surprised you aren’t angry with me.”

She ran the back of her hand across her cheek; it was then Alistair realized she cried. “You cared for Cailan? But I thought. . .maybe that’s the problem, what I think I remember and the truth are two different things.” _Be yourself,_ he thought, _that’s what Eamon and Duncan had drilled into me year after year._ Alistair tried to smile and approached his mother’s desk. “While this may seem a bit silly and terribly out of place at this moment, I’d like to start over. Lady Ghilain? It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m your son–Alistair.”

She stared at him, eyes widening at first until a grin spread across her face and she hid a laugh behind her hand. “By that greeting, there is no doubt. Your father used to talk to me in the same way when he was nervous. It’s endearing, but even more coming from you.”

Intrigued, he wanted to learn more. “Why is that?”

“I’m far older now and less likely to follow you on some ridiculous adventure like I often did with Maric.” She paused. “But no more of this Lady Ghilain, I am not noble born. If _mother_ is too much for us at this time, then perhaps you would consider calling me by my name?” She sighed. “One evening is not nearly enough time to know you Alistair, but it seems it will have to do.”

Confused, he stepped closer reaching for her instinctively, before pulling his hand back. “Why one evening?”

Dela crossed the large office toward a row of bookcases, grabbing on a large volume on a near empty shelf, carrying with her. “Alistair, have you collected the pieces from Bryce, Eamon, Lavinia and Andrus?”

He nodded, pulling the bag of metal pieces from his waistcoat and the metal rod from his pocket. “What is all this?”

The book rested on the table, weathered and scuffed, he wondered what the large tome had to do with the collection of metal pieces. “Open it, the book is merely a box,” Dela nodded toward it. “I’d hidden it there first so I wouldn’t lose it, and then just in case someone came searching for it-someone that wasn’t you.”

“Why me?”

“Before I explain, tell me.  Isabela hinted at two letters received in Redcliffe; one freed you from the Wardens, that much I guessed, but what of the other?”

Alistair explained the edict from Maric placing him as the heir over Cailan. Anger took his mother from her quieted state, moving away from him she kept her face hidden muttering with her back turned. It took several minutes until Dela’s taut posture relaxed and she addressed him. “Promise me you will try to listen to those around you. Keeping your thoughts and plans hidden from others is not a game you want to play. Learn from your father’s mistakes and trust your friends and companions; you are not alone.”

He promised, and offered to return in the morning, unwilling to hurt her further.  “Forgive me if I upset you.”

A sardonic laugh and a wave of her hand dismissed the apology, “You’ve done nothing. I’m surprised Lavinia didn’t warn you of my more _spirited_ reactions.” When he shook his head, she tapped the side of her nose. “I’ve frightened you enough for one night; so now to business. Would you place the metal pieces on the table?”

He did so, adding the final piece, an oval shaped metal ball from Dela. “Will you tell me what this is? A key is everyone’s guess, but I’m not convinced. There’s more to it, but what I am not sure.”

“I will explain, but first, indulge me if you would.” She left for a moment returning to the bookcase where she removed a large metal sculpture. “I made this for your seventh birthday, but due to a few. . . technical problems, you received a more benign gift from your father–another of my creations. It was-”

“A dancing clown,” Alistair’s breathless admission quickened his steps closing the distance between them. “You made that for me?”

She nodded. “I did. I’d hoped to give you this, but the finished construct proved too wild and far too dangerous for a young boy.” Tentative hands held out the odd creation toward him; Alistair accepting the construct with the same reverence as it was offered. He gasped in delight.

“Sometimes my insanity yields wonder,” she offered, arms crossed almost hugging herself.

Intricate metal filigree had been pulled and shaped into wings, every feather articulated to the smallest detail. Tiny metal feathers decorated both wing and were offset by a soft blue grey fur covering the body of the bird. A golden beak curved down and piercing blue stones for eyes glinted in the ambient light. It was the birds feet that touched him so deeply Alistair feared tears gathering in his eyes would fall. The bird had _paws_ -four paws. It was then Alistair realized his mother had tried to give him a griffin.

“You knew everything about me all along,” he whispered. “When the Arl asked me what I wanted for my seventh birthday, I told him I wanted a griffin and when he told me they no longer lived-”

Dela touched him arm finishing his sentence. “You cried for days. I wanted to fix it, fix your sadness, but the construct proved too volatile. I couldn’t find a docile creature that could mimic the griffin’s behaviors, and the raptors here on the island are predators.”

He tried to reign in his memories, exhaling in sharp bursts. “I’m sorry,” he said through a half smile, handing the construct back to his mother.

“Keep it. It’s just a statue.” She led him back to the table. “I may have a way to make it up to you, if I know Bryce and Maric; you may get your wish yet.” She raised her hands and a vibrant blue light covered the metal pieces; Dela muttered unknown words under her breath.  The black metal vibrated on the table, pieces shifting in chaotic patterns finding their match until what remained caught Alistair’s memory. An oval top twisted like a metal vine, long enough to be gripped by a hand. A control rod or sorts; the long metal rod connected at the oval’s base.

“It looks like a throttle, the Ostagar’s looked similar, this is a little shorter of course, but I recognize the same design.” Alistair received Dela’s confirmations in both gesture and words.

“When the construct failed, Maric told me the clown was sufficient.” She talked over her shoulder buzzing around her office; Alistair nearly overwhelmed at his mother’s endless energy. “Maric knew full well I wouldn’t let it go, and he was right.” She dug through rolled papers and stacks, searching through boxes in an alcove to his right.

“Can I help?”

She laughed and Alistair had to get closer to hear Dela; she buried her head amid stacks talking as her search continued. “No,” she said, tossing rolled up pages to the floor, “I’m afraid I am the only one who can navigate this chaotic mess, it may not seem like it, but I have a general idea of where everything is _supposed_ to be.” She tossed a large collection of rolled pages toward him, Alistair barely catching the roll before it hit the floor. “Those are the plans to the Hero. You can keep them. At least I know I’m in the right spot.”

“You built the Hero?”

“Bryce built it, I was the visionary in all our endeavors and fell to the genius of Bryce to shape those ideas into reality. So I ask you, who was more like a mage wielding magic-me or him?”

Thoughts churned in Alistair’s head, putting the pieces together while his mother searched. _The collection of metal scraps fit together to form the top half of an airship throttle_ , he thought, excitement building as he worked through the possibilities. The rolled up plans for the Hero led him to the probability that Dela searched for plans to another ship-one built possibly for him. “You designed an airship- for me?”

At that moment, she pulled a large roll of pages covered in a hide-bound protective sleeve and held it to her chest. “The Griffin is her name and yes, dear Alistair. I made you a Griffin to carry you through the clouds.” Her eyes welled with tears, and after several quick admonishments she held out the plans. “Take it, I can only hope that Maric continued his streak of ignoring me and had Bryce build this. If he did, you must go to Orzammar and find Firand Ortan. If anyone is hiding the Griffin from the world, it’s him.”


	12. Lessons and Strange Capers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dela reveals more of her work and how the constructs are made. A private moment with Alistair recounts Dela's first meeting with Maric and reveals even more about his mother.

“You should have seen your father,” Dela laughed trying to hold on to her composure, “he’s hanging out the window from the second floor of Eamon’s estate, and I’m on the ground trying to figure out how to keep him from snapping his neck.”

Alistair couldn’t help but laugh along with her, he’d never heard these stories before and they revealed a part of Maric that Alistair never knew. “Why not just walk out the door? He was king, right?”

She nodded. “Maric is the only man I have ever known who would try to cut an apple with a great axe,” she shrugged. “Everything fascinated him and he wanted to see things from a different points of view.”

“What happened next?”

Dela’s brow rose realizing she’d stopped. “So he’s hanging there, and out walks Eamon, the elder.” Her laughter picks up. “He takes one look at the both of us and says without cracking a smile– _do be careful of the hedges, I’m rather fond of them. It wouldn’t do to have the royal innards as a decorative element this time of the year, far more appropriate in winter-fewer flies_.”

Alistair covered his laughter.  “I can hear him, too.”

The stories and anecdotes continued, while Alistair fought to keep awake, not wanting the evening to end.  Curiosity brought Cullen first, citing a concern for Alistair’s well-being. When Dela asked why, Cullen was only too ready to explain Alistair’s lack of rest and a general concern among those closest to him.

Alistair insisted he could continue, assuring both he was not tired at all. Lisette interrupted not long after and after a whispered conversation with Dela she inquired once more if Alistair needed rest. Fatigue hung heavy around Alistair’s shoulders, but the small taste of Dela’s maternal affections compelled Alistair to fight against sleep. To prove his eagerness to continue the evening, he shifted the conversation away from lighter subjects. “Dela, the constructs. . .what are they? How can a machine mimic life?” 

Surprised at the abrupt topic change, she hummed in response. “You doubt them?”

Alistair leaned back in the chair across from her. “Well, yes. Cullen seemed deeply disturbed, and if I think on it, all the Templars at the tower acted much the same.”

At the mention of his name Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I am uneasy, Alistair speaks the truth, but I question the creator’s intentions more.”

“I see.”

Unfazed by Dela’s curtness, Alistair stared at the griffin statue that had been meant for him as a child. “You said the griffin proved too volatile because you could not find a docile creature to mimic the griffin’s behaviors.” Alistair hadn’t mentioned Cullen’s comments about the mage known as Uldred who’d apparently caused the tower’s malfunction but could not let the thoughts dissipate without understanding more. “This mage. . .Uldred. Was he. . .why was he chosen for the tower?”

Cullen’s frown deepened. “It hardly matters, these constructs are abominations, and requires stealing life to offer false hope.”

“We steal nothing. Yes, there is magic involved, but it is not done in anger. Cullen, Uldred himself was tainted, he never should have been chosen. His bitterness and contempt for life is how the demon would have gained control, but at its core the _construct_ is not evil.”

Leaning forward in his chair Cullen voiced Alistair’s thought. “I don’t understand.”

Even though Lisette offered to explain, Dela insisted on a demonstration. “The construct is but a shell or a vessel if you prefer a more precise term. It houses the essence of its donor, but the donor lives on.” A quick set of instructions set Lisette to the far end of the room; she returned with a large black box, placing it on the work table. “If you will indulge me?”

The need to apologize to Dela overwhelmed Alistair. He hadn’t known her, and all of his misconceptions and guilt-ridden thoughts urged him to his feet. “Dela,” he started, and the realized he owed her proper respect, “Mother, you have nothing to prove.”

Dela seemed overwhelmed and unable to speak for a moment before a bright smile set Alistair at ease. She reached out toward him, and Alistair grabbed her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. Returning it in earnest, Dela released his hand gesturing toward the box. “Let me show you and then you can determine for yourself what a construct is or is not.”

Reaching inside, Dela pulled out a metal replica of a butterfly roughly the size of an average bird. Careful movements set the metal creature to rest on the table. Another reach inside produced a bottle and a pouch that jingled a bit from the movement. The bottle caught both Alistair and Cullen’s attention. Alistair stepped closer first, and Cullen followed, moving to the opposite side for a better view. The liquid inside the bottle shimmered; silver in color, it was too thick and unfamiliar for a reasonable guess.

“What is that?” Alistair pointed toward the bottle, earning Cullen’s nod in agreement.

Lisette answered. “That is actually a metal. Orichalcum is its name and while rare, can be harvested in various areas of Thedas.”

“A liquid metal?” Cullen’s fascination showed in his questioning. “Where can one find it? Why is it not solid?” He took a breath. “How can you harvest a metal? Forgive me, my fascination took control of my sensibility.”

Dela’s warm laugh filled the room. “The eternal war of the inventor; one must learn to balance fascination and wonder with sensibility and logic.”

Cullen continued with his questions. “Is that possible? How have you learned such a skill?”

Dela shrugged, tossing a wink toward Alistair. “I’ll let you know when it happens.” 

The rest of the explanation fell to Dela as she worked. Lifting the bottle, she tilted it from side to side. “I share your fascination, believe me. I may seem desensitized, but this little bottle is the key to a construct’s core.” Dela’s gentle hand returned the bottle to the table, placing it near to the clockwork butterfly. “This is orichalcum’s natural state. It can be incorporated with other metals to strengthen armor or extend the life of a weapon,” she paused, her voice carrying a bit of wonder to it, “but this liquid rests inside the gyroscope or heart of a construct. The liquid metal is the medium through which the donor and magic are united-bringing life to the lifeless.”

Alistair couldn’t help his inquisitiveness as he studied the metal sculpture. “I never really considered something as simple as a butterfly would be so intricate, so special.” He felt someone approach near him. “Seeing this I wonder how much more I have overlooked.”

A quieted agreement from Cullen revealed he shared the same thought, but it was Lisette who offered more standing closer to Alistair. “Now perhaps you understand why perfecting the vessel was my father’s goal, and why I must continue his work.” She snatched the butterfly and tossed it up before catching it in her hand.  “It’s a thing. Nothing more. There’s no difference between this and that book on the floor until you add a core.”

Lisette motioned to Cullen to join them. “Please, consider what you are about to see.” She waited until both men could witness Dela’s task. “The small ball in the lady’s hand is a gyroscope. It’s needed for any construct requiring movement. Inside the gyro we add a mixture of oils, the orichalcum and the essence of the donor.”

“You mean blood,” Cullen said with a frown.

The long sigh from Dela confirmed the aggravation Alistair read on her face. The idea disturbed him as well. “Is it blood?”

Dela nodded. “Yes, the construct requires a small amount, just enough for the magic to work.” Turning her attention to Cullen, Dela continued her explanation. “The donor is willing, never forced.”  

Even as Dela said the words Alistair knew they were false. “And Maribelle?” Maric’s favorite mabari certainly would not understand nor know what _giving consent_ meant; they took what was needed from her.

Meeting Alistair’s question head on Dela’s eyes held his. “I couldn’t say no. She was dying, and it tore your father apart to say goodbye. I should have insisted, but I couldn’t. I. . .please don’t judge. If you find the one person who makes your heart and mind sing, you’ll understand. You’d bear the pain for them if you could. You’d move the sun, moons and all creation to make them happy. I still would, even after all that has happened. Maribelle . . .Sprocket. . .was a momentary lapse of my sensibility.”

Cullen stiffened. “I’d give my life to correct my wrongs, but this? I’ve no right to judge, but blood magic-even with the best intentions can turn sour.”

Dela agreed. “It can, but intentions, feelings, emotions, desires these things can be beautiful too.” The knife appeared as if out of the air, and Dela pierced the fleshy pad of her index finger without a wince. She pressed and squeezed until a large drop of her blood was lifted with the aid of a small dropper, adding it to the gyroscope’s mixture.

With reverence, Lisette placed the gyroscope into the back of the butterfly.

Whispered words and outstretched hands covered the butterfly, causing the hairs on Alistair’s arms to rise for a moment. An exaggerated exhale told him the ritual had completed, and the faintest hint of sound caught his attention.

Wings moved up and down. The sudden action sent Cullen back a few steps in surprise, but he righted himself and hurried back to the table. The motion repeated several times until the butterfly leapt from the table testing her wings. At first, she seemed confused; flying back and forth across the room as if searching for a way out until Dela spoke to it. “Go to Alistair,” she said aloud.

Shock moved Alistair away from the table, the notion constructs followed their creators’ orders only worried him more. He waited, giving no indication of his identity and yet the butterfly landed on his shoulder. Thoughts swirled and question after question filed into a line waiting to be asked aloud. Alistair chose the worst first. “Can you send a construct out to harm another?”

The change in Dela’s demeanor reminded Alistair of their conversation years ago. Dela wore her displeasure like a mask, the deep set frown overtaking her earlier excitement and joy. Lisette gasped when Dela hurled her knife toward him. Alistair froze taken by surprise, but a blur of gold and silver flew in front of him; Alistair realized the butterfly had moved in time to protect him. The knife weighed the intricate machine down and it fell, sending metal shards and pieces skittering across the floor.

Dela sunk into a chair. “Does that answer your question? My construct sacrificed itself to protect you.” 

Lisette and Cullen had moved to stand in front of Alistair, both demanding to know why such a demonstration was necessary.  Dela, for her part said nothing, but despite his confusion Alistair asked the others to give him the room.

Reluctant glances carried the two from the room and Alistair carefully picked up the cracked pieces of the butterfly, placing them on the table with care. “You didn’t answer my question.” No trace of blame flowed in his words. “Mother. I need to know if it’s possible; if Loghain has constructs or anything that might seek to hurt others.”

“It is possible, but unlikely. I have never made a construct for anyone who had questionable intentions. Morrigan and Lisette understand this and neither will break that rule.” She met his eyes as she continued. “As for Loghain, he has no need of constructs when he relies on weapons and airships. I failed you and your father when I designed that airship for him. I couldn’t know he would turn against Maric.”

The resignation in her voice instilled in him a resolve to end her pain. “I’ll find Loghain. The Hero is stronger than Loghain’s ship, we have a good crew.”

She slammed her fist into the table. “You don’t understand! To win this fight, you can’t hesitate. You have to become as ruthless as he, and now I’ve met you- I can’t let you go after Loghain. Not without me.”  Dela stood. “I’m not proud of everything I’ve done; your father helped me to see the wonder in life and living.”

“I don’t,” Alistair didn’t want to know whatever was to come next, her eyes spoke of deep sadness and regret, “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going.”

“And yet, it is necessary. One final story before you rest.”

 

_A lie told to protect a child often has far-reaching consequences.  At three years old, Cailan Theirin had only fleeting memories of his mother. He often mistook any woman with a mild resemblance for Catelin and cried until Maric arrived to soothe the child. Repeated wails for his mother met with the same story. “Mommy had to go away, but she loves you Cai.” Maric repeated those words several times as he sat in the rocking chair; the small boy clung to his shirt sobbing. “You’re not alone, my son. I’ll never leave you.”_

_Maric rocked the boy and rubbed his back; the sobs slowly waning into subdued whimpers. The low lights in the large room hid the play area in shadow and hid another from view. A careful shift in bare feet gave no warning of the silent presence, an uninvited guest strained to hear Maric’s speech._

_“Your mother loved you, as I do. She didn’t want to leave, but I promised her I would remain with you always. She would have bet against me,” he laughed, an inappropriate response but his grief had dulled him, Catelin’s passing had taken Maric’s heart along with her. “We’ll be all right. I promise you.” He hugged the boy to him, murmuring into his dusty blonde hair._

_Across the room a silent curse almost gave way to an audible sigh._ I can’t do this. I can’t take a father away from his son. The child is too young. Blast the Crows. They didn’t tell me everything for a reason. _The intruder moved when Maric stood, tucking the child into bed._ A few more steps to the right and I can slip out the window when the king leaves.

 _Who she was didn’t matter; generations past saw an unpaid debt turned into a path of servitude for all of her bloodline. Some had escaped, others refused and disappeared, but she could not run. The Crows, a band of thieves, assassins and pirates for hire owned her and all her family. Her younger sister a captive hidden somewhere in Antiva, the jobs she took paid no coin, but counted toward freedom for them both._ I’m so sorry, little one _, she thought._ I can’t do it. _Keeping still she waited for the King to leave the room. She nearly gasped when he addressed the darkness where she stood._

_“I know you’re there.”_

_Pressing her lips together she remained still._ Do not move.

_She watched as the young king opened his arms. “Do what you will, but please spare my son.”_

He would offer his life for the boy? This is not the man they led me to believe was king. _She wrestled with her conscience, wondering if there was harm in speaking to him. The king had not called for his guards, he stood before her without posturing or threats._

_“Please. Do not harm Cailan. He’s. . .just please.”_

_There was such emotion in those words, things she’d wished for when the Crows came to take her into servitude, but her own father remained silent. “I won’t hurt you or the boy. Much good it will do me. Either I destroy his family or mine.” She straightened, confirming her decision. “I swear on the life of my sister and on my life’s blood, I will not spill yours.”_

_Maric’s hands shook. “Who are you?”_

_She had no name, the crows took it from her years ago. The false name belonged to a clan somewhere in the south. “Delaryn Ghilain.”_

_Maric stepped closer. “It’s a lovely name. Dalish? Please step into the light. I have not called my guards, I simply wish to see the one sent to take my life.”_

_Delaryn didn’t know the origin, it was a name of a young elf not unlike herself who died from illness, she’d found a journal on one of her assignments and took the name to use as cover. “I . . .I don’t know. If I don’t report to the inn, they’ll think something is wrong and send others.” Not a lie entirely, but a likelihood._

_“Tell me the inn and I will have my men take care of the others.”_

_"Why?”_

_Another step closer forced Delaryn toward the window._

_“Step into the light, please. As you have sworn, so will I. You spare us, and I do the same. Please, I must know who you are.”_

It’s a trap, it must be. _Her thumped in her chest. “Again why?”_

_He chuckled. “You’ll think I’m mad.”_

_“Maybe I already do.”_

_Maric shifted closer. “My. . .wife died nearly three years ago, and from that moment I swore I was done.” He wiped his hands on his trousers and laughed. “My. . .hands are sweating, and your voice? I know you, but how? Am I mad? You’re a Crow, no doubt sent to kill me and here I am asking you to stay.” He laughed again._

_“What? You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you?” Delaryn wondered if it was all an act to capture her. Her sister. All that mattered was the life of her sister. If captured, the Crows would not harm her sister._

_“It would seem so.” He waited._

_Dela couldn’t believe him. “Listen to yourself,” she said, stalking out of the shadows with her dagger drawn. “I came here to end your life and you want to know more about me? The Crows don’t play games. I have to get back or my sister pays the price.”_

_“Oh.” He smiled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hello Delaryn.”_

Alistair listened to the rest of her story, unable to comprehend how this could be the same Maric. “You were an assassin?” Alistair stumbled sinking into a chair. “And Maric . . .he. . .he did what?”

“Had me detained to convince the Crows I had failed and would likely die.” She shrugged sitting on the desk as if it meant nothing.

“You were an assassin.”

Dela placed her hand against his forehead. “Are you unwell?”

“I am . . . unsure. My mother-who I was told was dead-is in reality Delaryn Ghilain, an assassin in the Crows someone hired to kill my father?”

She laughed. “Funny thing that.”  

He shook his head. “How do you figure?”

She pulled a chair across from him. “My name isn’t Delaryn Ghilain. I had to take a false name to hide from the Crows. My family name was well known to the Theirin bloodline. It was that fact that spared me from judgement, along with your father’s infatuation.”

“But you are my mother, aren’t you?” Alistair’s eyes widened hoping it was still true.

“Yes, Alistair, but my real name? Only Maric, and two others know my real name, and now so will you. I was born in Antiva, a city elf. My name was Vanda Arainai.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you, it helps to know how the story may or may not be connecting for you.


	13. Sins of the Past, Promises for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the assassin arrives, the latest addition to their party adds to Alistair's uncertainties. But the longer the newcomer remains, Alistair is forced to take a stand and in doing so, changes everything.

A loud ruckus of shouts and clomping boots urged Alistair and Dela out of her office and into the corridor; Cullen and Lisette hurried from the right-side hall and joined them. “We heard shouting,” Cullen offered.  At the far end, two men dressed in black pushed another. The third man stumbled, his hands appeared bound.

 _The assassin_ , Alistair thought, watching the slight man pushed and shoved by the other two. His captors stood at least a foot taller and far more menacing than Alistair expected of Isabela’s crew.

Dela urged the three to wait in her office. “Cullen, I need to know I can trust you,” her quieted voice met with Cullen’s conviction.

“I have sworn to protect Alistair, as his mother my oath extends to you.”

She smiled. “Good enough, inside then.” Dela ushered Cullen and Alistair inside her office and spoke to Lisette so softly, Alistair couldn’t hear their conversation, but wondered if they were about to meet the elusive assassin.

Both men winced when a shrill whistle cut through the room. The sharp noise from Dela set off a series of similar sounds. Some loud enough to guess aid a mere moment away, and others fainter, would still likely bring even more to Dela’s side. Alistair tried to use humor deflecting the mounting tension he knew they all felt. “I think I know where I got that rather shrill habit from,” he said with a shrug. “It really is a bit annoying.”

Cullen agreed. “Just a bit.”

The bound man nearly fell as one of Isabela’s men shoved him into Dela’s office. “Compliments of the Captain, _my lady_.” The two burly men leered and held out their hands as if expecting payment.

Angered at the disrespect, Alistair shifted to put himself between the men and his mother, but Cullen moved far quicker. “You will apologize to the lady and depart.” Behind the men, several of Dela’s crew gathered, and by their darkening expressions, they also took exception to the disrespect levied toward her.

“Is that right?” The man on the left crossed his arms, “or you’ll do what?”

Lifting his hand in front of the man’s face, the sudden appearance of blue and white flames in Cullen’s outstretched hand caused the two to pale. “Shall we discover your tolerance for pain?” His icy tone and pointed stare left little doubt to any watching of Cullen’s ability.

Alistair pressed his lips together, he knew full well Cullen wouldn’t attack, but Isabela’s men believed it, and backed away, finding themselves led away by an angry contingent of attendants. Alistair was sure he’d heard a collective exhale at the departure and waited before offering his gratitude. “Thanks. Your bluff paid off.”

A subtle change in Cullen’s posture and a light laugh deflated the tension even more. “Partial bluff,” Cullen offered. “Had they attacked, I would have done the same. The difference between us? I would feel some remorse-eventually.”    

Alistair turned around to see his mother’s approving nod before she instructed Cullen to secure the room and all eyes turned to the new arrival.

An elf by his ears, and a Crow by the tattoos on his face, he appeared to be close in age. A head shorter than Alistair, the assassin’s long, pale blonde hair added to his strange appearance. It reached to his back, small sections braided in tight even braids were pulled back and tied with a red ribbon. He dressed like a partygoer at a masquerade, a flowing white tunic complete with ruffled cuffs; his striped trousers and black boots reminded Alistair of a pirate’s costume he’d seen in a Denerim clothier’s window. Alistair’s curiosity spoke for him. “You’re an assassin?”

“Ah, yes,” a mild hint of an Antivan accent thickened as he spoke. “I am Zee, and yes little princeling I am-as you say-an assassin.” He shrugged free of his bonds, shaking his head. “Amateurs. You’d think pirates could tie knots, but no. I get those two. Had I not been delivered here I would have escaped within seconds."

Dela’s scoff and quick steps toward Zee forced him to back away. “Zevran, do not con my son, say thank you for saving you once again.”

“Thank you, Auntie, but please-this . . .Zevran. It is not the name of an assassin to be feared and revered. I prefer Zee.” He sat on the edge of the large desk taking in the room.

Stepping into his mother’s path, Alistair tried to understand. “Auntie? As in you’re related to an assassin?”

She nodded. “Zee is my nephew. I couldn’t trust the Raiders with that bit of information although I suspect Isabela knows.” She called over her shoulder. “One of your little blunders, nephew?”

“Isabela. I swear it was nothing, a harmless infatuation.” From her seat near the bookcases, Lisette laughed earning Zee’s attention.  “Lovely Lizzy has returned. Hello my darling, did you miss me?”

She rolled her eyes in response. “Quite frankly, no.” Lisette stood, straightened the sleeves of her blouse and asked for permission to leave. “Would it be safe to assume we plan to leave immediately following this little reunion?”

Zee tilted his head and clucked his tongue a few times. “How I have missed your beauty my Ferelden flower, we have time; surely a visit-even a private meeting-would not interrupt the princeling’s plans?”

There was no mistaking Lisette’s displeasure, even Alistair far across the room noted her eyes narrowing to near slits and Lisette’s hands as they closed into tight fists. It fell to Dela to take control. She stalked over to Zee and whispered something to him; Zee’s hand shot up to cover his ear.

“Fine. Do not tweak my ears, Auntie. I am no longer a young boy.”

Dela hissed a warning. “And stop calling my son _princeling_. Alistair. You know his name.”

Zee nodded, his attention turning to Cullen. “You must be the Templar. I should warn you, there is a rather large contract on you my friend. Lucky for you I have no interest in such things.”

The revelation concerned Alistair. “After all this time? Who holds the contract?”

“Ah, well the problem is someone likely paid for it years ago, and not even the Crows will risk the wrath of the Templars.” Zee turned to Cullen, speaking to him directly, before dropping into a chair.  “I believe you are safe, my friend.”

Cullen shook his head. “If my presence is brings trouble, then I should not accompany you.”

From across the room Dela laughed packing a satchel with tools and papers. “You’ve nothing to worry about Cullen,” explained Dela, “my nephew is telling you in his own cryptic way he took the contract; what he is not sharing is that he has no plans to collect.” The satchel snapped close and Dela steered the group out of her office. “I’ve had the Hero stocked and fitted with a few extras and sufficient gear, so if there’s nothing else?”

Alistair couldn’t believe what he heard. “How can you be so calm about all this? No plans to collect? This is a man’s life we’re talking about.” Cullen tried to inject, but Alistair continued. “I may not know what it means to be a Crow, but I can’t allow this . . .this . . .costumed killer aboard the Hero.” Alistair huffed as he finished to the surprise of those in the room.

Zee rose to his feet and clucked his tongue. “There is no need for insults, I assure you. Wouldn’t you agree, Auntie?”

By the smiles and light laughter from Lisette, Dela and Zee, Alistair wondered if the three were playing some sort of cruel joke. Dela left the satchel on the floor and joined him.  “You must trust me, Alistair. My nephew is of the Crows, that is the truth, but he has a reputation for failure that was built by his mother and me for years.”

Despite her reassurances, Alistair didn’t understand. “A reputation for failure? I don’t. . .then why do you bring him along?”

“Auntie, if I may?” Zee crossed the room and spoke with exaggerated hand gestures. “It’s what’s known as a ruse or double cross, prince-,” Zee stopped and corrected himself, “you see Alistair, our bloodline was sold into service because one of reason. Zevran Arainai. Many ages past, he’d earned a reputation as an assassin of some renown, falling out of favor with the Crows. He’d tried to dismantle the Crows through masked interference and subterfuge. He’d succeeded for a time, and then he fell in love allowing himself to be caught. Not a terrible fate, but it allowed his descendants to continue his work in secret, do you understand?”

“No.”

Dela took over. “When your father helped me to disappear, my absence left my sister at the mercy of the Crows.” The group’s attention fell to Dela. “My sister did what had to be done; she married one of the most influential members of the Crows and set about to take control with help of course from your father and me. It took a fair number of years, but Yvarra is beyond contestation in the organization, and often assigns her son the contracts which are never completed.”

Brushing his sleeves Zee bowed. “Never has failure and insufficient skill ever been so rewarded. Come now,” he gestured toward the door, “I believe our journey continues.”

 

l-l-l

“Never have I wanted to hit someone as much as that. . .that-” Alistair couldn’t finish his sentence.  Cullen and Leliana nodded in agreement, watching Zee continue his constant flow of proposals and flirting with Lisette.

“I believe the lady might do so herself. She’s turned a few shades of red in only the last few minutes and I’d wager it has more to do with being annoyed than anything else,” Cullen said. “I thought–never mind.”

Alistair showed both how to tie a proper knot and how their safety harnesses worked, both insisted on being a part of the crew. “Try it again, Leliana.” Over his shoulder Alistair wondered what Cullen had wanted to say. “Thought what?”

Dropping his head quickly, Cullen’s focus shifted to the rope in his hands. “It’s nothing, forgive me.”

A light laugh from Leliana was followed by a half whispered response. “We thought, you and the lady,” she paused, tilting her head from side to side, “well, we thought you weren’t quite amiable.”

Cullen admonished Leliana for bringing it up. “It’s not important, Alistair; you seem to be a bit preoccupied with Lady Cousland ever since we left Llomerynn-that’s all.”

He pointed to himself as if to question the comment and then tried to laugh.  “Right, we don’t get along, I hadn’t realized I’d been preoccupied at all with Lisette-I mean Lady Cousland.” He shrugged, staring back at Zee and Lisette across the deck. “Preoccupied? Really? I mean preoccupied how, like in a creepy way or . . .or is there some other way to be preoccupied?”

Both of his companions tried to hide a smile but the glance between them wasn’t lost on Alistair. Leliana moved first. “Go talk with her, at least save her from Zee and his incessant yammering.”

“Me? Why me? You should go. You’re a girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, thank you for noticing, but what does that have to do with Lisette?”

Alistair shook his head. “I’ve no idea what to say. Umm. . .hello? Fancy a rescue?”

A loud cough from Cullen to hide his laughter carried him a few steps away, leaving Alistair to complain. “See, even Cullen agrees- it’s hopeless.”

"It’s not hopeless Alistair.” Leliana pushed Alistair to move. “It’s endearing when you do that, we _girls_ like that sort of thing. Maker willing, it’ll be fine. Trust me,” she said, sending him off with a final push.

Cullen turned back and stood with Leliana. “This will not end well, you know that.”

“Have a little faith, Cullen.”

He shook his head in response. “Leave the Maker out of this.”

Across the deck, Alistair listened to Zee as he approached. All you have to do is interrupt him and give Lisette a chance for a little peace. _What do I say?_ He ran through several ideas, each one more ridiculous than the previous, but if he could offer her the same kindness she shared with him when they departed Llomerynn- it was the least he could do.

_Returning to the docks, Alistair hung back. He’d never expected the whirlwind of events and loss of Duncan and Cailan to be coupled with finding out the truth about his mother. I doubt there’s a single word that could describe all this, he thought, his steps slowing even more._

_A presence slipped beside him, and a delicate but confident arm looped through his. “We need you, don’t fall too far behind.” The gentleness to the voice surprised him and realizing Lisette stood next to him Alistair reacted without thinking._

_“Lizzy?” Recognizing too late his use of the familiar Alistair apologized, shrugging free of her arm. “I’m. . .forgive me, I. . .Lisette, I’m sorry.”_

_To his surprise, Lisette laughed and linked her arm once more. “It’s all right. I prefer Lizzy actually.” She pointed toward the group walking out of view. “They’re fine, and I know the way to the docks. Would you walk with me?”_

_Shocked, he nodded, feeling the flush on his neck at the thought she wanted to spend even a little time with him; nervous and unsure he wondered aloud if Zee would mind. “Won’t Zee be upset? I mean to hear him talk you two are. . .well, close I guess.”_

_She leaned slightly into Alistair, and without permission-his heart raced.  She scoffed as they walked a bit more before Lisette spoke again. “It’s a game to him, he’s not interested in me at all. We’re friends, Zee doesn’t know when enough is too much, but I think he’s either got his eye on Leliana or Cullen, I’m not sure which.”_

_Alistair didn’t understand. “The way he leers at you, talks to you. I don’t like it,” even before the last word fell Alistair stopped and apologized again. “I should just stop talking.”_

_“No!” Lisette stopped him and then quieted her voice. “Defending my honor? I’m flattered.”_

  
l-l-l

  
The light smile that had grown on his face from the memory melted in a frown as he drew near to the two near the railing. While he understood Lisette and Zee had a history together, her cross arms and pursed lips revealed her displeasure while Zee continued oblivious to her aggravation.

“Lizzy, be reasonable. I am not suggesting we wed and make children, although I am not opposed to be used if that is your wish,” he grinned, continuing. “What do you think? Three or maybe four?”

Lisette noticed Alistair’s approach. Something in the way she stared at him, eyes widening seemed to plead for his help and in that expression, Alistair found his voice.

“I think that’s more than enough _Zevran_ ,” Alistair’s emphasis on Zee’s real name elicited a wince.

“Please do not use that name, it hurts my ears little princeling.”

A stern gaze and pointed gesture underlined Lisette’s anger. “Stop it Zee.”

At first, Zee stepped back, his mouth dropped open for a moment reacting to her emotion.  A glance toward Alistair and back to Lisette changed him. The corners of his mouth rose revealing a smirk and his eyes narrow just enough. “Oh, have I uncovered something hidden between you? How very interesting. My dear Lisette, what have you been up to, I wonder?”

Alistair bristled at the insinuation, but Lisette’s darkening mood and stiffened posted bothered him even more. Each word she spoke fell slow and deliberate giving no doubt Zee had crossed a line. “That’s enough, Zee.” 

His laugh proved his lack of awareness, Zee continuing his tease while Alistair stood incredulous and prepared to snap. “I assure you it is a rare occasion that anyone truly-”

“Maker’s breath! She said enough!” Once he started, Alistair could not stem the flow of anger. “Understand with no amount of uncertainty this airship and company is under my protection. I suggest you find a way to make yourself bloody well useful if you wish to remain on board.” His face and ears burned, but despite the gentle touch of a cool hand on his, Alistair had to finish. “Unless you want to spend the rest of our journey below deck, you will stop antagonizing the lady. She is more valuable in ways you cannot match and if you force my hand, it is the lady who will remain at my side as she has done since the beginning-of that I can assure you.”

He’d gone too far. The burn in his chest a sign he’d lost control-just like Maric. He swore he’d never act without a level head. The apology stuck in his throat and Alistair turned, the need to get away before he said anything else outweighed the satisfaction of ending Zee’s horrid teasing.

“Alistair wait!” Lisette called after him, but he couldn’t face her, not after losing control. She called to him again, her quickening footfalls on the wooden deck revealing she ran after him. “Please, don’t go,” she said, standing behind him.

He turned, his saddened eyes trying to apologize for his interference. In a sudden movement, she stepped far closer than he prepared for, and before he could step away Lisette pressed her lips against his. Soft and warm, his first kiss was nothing as he imagined. A lighter peck against the corner of his mouth and a whispered _thank you Alistair_ left no doubt in his mind. _She kissed me, really kissed me._

When she stepped back, instinct told him to return the affection, but his mouth spoke without permission. “That was real, wasn’t it? I didn’t just imagine that? I mean, is this where I kiss you back?”

She smiled, and the sudden shyness from her, made Alistair hope she would say yes. “Only if you want to. What you said, what you did-I didn’t know what else to do, you’re not mad are you?”

A sudden swell of bravado helped him reply. “Mad? No, depends on who you ask, maybe.” He laughed. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.” He sighed, trying to find the courage to take the lead. Lisette stepped closer, resting her hand against his chest, and in that moment, he knew exactly what he wanted.


	14. Because of Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Lisette's moment of happiness is cut short by an unexpected occurrence. Alistair's interference results in an injury calling into question Cullen's abilities. When the dust settles Cullen reveals there is more to his past and it may just prove too much for him to continue.

“I guess this means we have more to discuss,” Alistair said, leading Lisette below deck. A few deck hands noted their decent on the ladder and made quick excuses before departing. He waited, his eyes fixed on hers. “I’m not sure I understand what just happened, but I liked it. So, if you. . .you know. . .felt the same? Maybe we could talk more? When all this is done?” His sharp exhalation and a sheepish expression coaxed a gentle smile from Lisette.

“You really are odd, but it’s cute.” She blinked several times, and her eyes broke free of his. “I liked it, too,” she said, not meeting his eagerness. “I keep wondering if this is happening and we’re not about to start screaming at one another.” Her eyes rose to meet his again. “I thought you hated me.”

Alistair had wanted to say the same thing, he was sure Lisette paid little attention to him, and had she not shown kindness and a willingness to apologize on their journey, Alistair couldn’t be sure. “Hated you? No, dear lady I’ll admit I share your concern, but we’ve stood here for a few minutes and neither of us is yelling, so maybe this means we’re friends?”

Her cheeks tinged a light pink before Lisette looked away. “I’ve no friends who kiss like you.”

On the outside Alistair stood still, smiled and reached for her chin to turn her face toward him. Inside he danced and jumped up and down hollering in his head before speaking in a half whisper. “Nor do I.” He was sure Lisette could hear his heart beating faster as he leaned in.

“Sir! Warden Alistair!”

A shout of his name and the sudden slam of the hatch against the deck moved them apart; for a moment, Alistair had to focus his attention before responding to the commotion.  “What is it?”  Concern replaced all other thoughts at the deckhand’s frantic appearance.

“The mages! They’re attacking the Templar!”

Lisette demanded information, but Alistair couldn’t wait climbing the ladder to the deck. Chaos reigned, shouts and calls to arms met with countermanded orders to stand down. Cullen stood at the far end of the deck, flanked by several men on either side waving off any attempts at assistance.

What played out in front of Alistair didn’t seem real. Magic hurled from both Dela and Morrigan at a dizzying pace, green and violet bursts of light and force flew toward him only to impact less than a foot away and dispersing against a spherical barrier. To Alistair it appeared as though Cullen struggled to push back, but he sent no volleys in return.

Incredulous and torn as to whom needed his aid, Alistair did the only logical thing he could think of-he put himself in the middle of the fray to end it, but not before a violet ball of light hit Alistair sending him to the ground writhing in pain.

His teeth ground together to hold back the scream threatening to break free. Muscles twitched as tiny pins pierced every part of him. He rocked back and forth on the deck amid cries for him from all around; Alistair found it harder to breathe with every attempt. The touch of hands, though gentle, reignited the searing pain; Alistair’s eyes teared as he struggled to hold together.

“All of you away, let me help him!” Cullen’s commanding voice cut through the din. “Alistair, a moment more, and this will end-I swear it. You two best get clear.” Cullen’s final order made little sense, but Alistair didn’t care, as long as the torment ended. “Alistair stay with me now; just a minute more.”

Almost sure he nodded his assent, Alistair closed his eyes welcoming whatever end Cullen could bring.  A gust of warm air rushed over him, and with it his body finally quieted allowing Alistair to inhale long and full. His voice cracked as he offered thanks; Cullen helped him to sit up. “Sorry about that, we were testing something.”

“Testing something?” Alistair’s voice rose in alarm, “and none of you thought to share this? It appeared you were being attacked!” Alistair winced as another wave of pain passed through before all was calm again.

“I apologize, there may be residual pain, and my skills in healing are somewhat limited. You should rest Alistair, you took quite the hit.” Cullen helped him to stand. “I guess all in all this was successful despite your injury, it seems I can block even the strongest of spells.”

A sideways glance and a raised brow answered Cullen before Alistair spoke, his reply steeped in sarcasm. “How lovely, your shielding works; remind me to thank the others for such a wonderful and unique experience. We should do this again soon.”

Cullen’s nervous laugh did little to lighten Alistair’s mood, but he didn’t argue when Cullen tried to lead him toward the captain’s quarters. “Lady Ghilain wanted to determine what I could or could not do, I protested, but she insisted there was no risk to others,” Cullen explained. “Perhaps stepping into the sparring field wasn’t the best decision, but I am grateful for your willingness to protect someone like me.”

Alistair exhaled sharply, Cullen’s self-loathing bothered him. “If you plan to continue this journey and join me in Denerim, you might forgive yourself for the past.”

“I’m not sure I can.” 

Running his fingers through his hair, Alistair stopped. “Why not?”

Before Cullen could answer, a loud crash and raised voices carried through the door of the captain’s quarters. Recognition pulled Alistair toward the argument. “That’s Lisette!”

“How can you be sure?”

Alistair nodded toward the door. “Simple, I’ve been on the receiving end of her anger before.”

The Hero had been built as sturdy as any airship, meant to withstand attacks from above and below, but even its superior construction could not hold back Lisette’s anger.

Her voice grew louder. “Don’t _Lizzy_ me. You could have killed him!”

The lower murmur of a reply met with an even louder retort.  “I will not _calm down_. You both saw him, and should have stopped! You did that on purpose Morrigan and don’t you dare insult me by denying it!”

Cullen for his part merely shrugged. “She appears to have gotten over her anger and redirected it elsewhere.” For a moment, Cullen’s eyes widened, and he turned to look back at the near empty deck before facing Alistair with a pointed stare. “You were together in the hold.”

“Only briefly, we were,” he paused, coughing once, “talking, that’s all.” Without allowing Cullen to respond, Alistair feigned light laughter. “Maybe we should intervene?”

Assuring Cullen he could walk without help, Alistair did not want to reveal his injuries remained although diminished.  The brass latch gave easily under Alistair’s hand.  Even before he entered, the argument stopped; Dela and Lisette inquired to his well-being talking at once. He assured them both he’d recovered thanks to Cullen’s help.

Dela refused to let it go. “I take responsibility, my curiosity took over, and it was by my suggestion alone we set the sparring task before Cullen. He refused at first, but it was my assurances,” she continued to apologize checking Alistair’s hands and face for injury, seeing none Dela shifted her attention to Cullen. “You healed him as well? Impressive Cullen, very impressive.”

A slight tinge of embarrassment crept up his neck. “There are limitations, as you know.  Alistair could benefit from your assistance.”

Cullen’s admission directed a renewed concern, but the lingering discomfort gave credence to his words.

Morrigan interrupted. “I believe the Templars would probably laud him for such skills, a mage with any skill would not leave a man half injured.”

A near hiss from Dela shifted Morrigan’s tone.

She nodded toward Cullen. “No offense meant. I rather enjoyed our little sparring session until its interruption.” A cursory glance toward Alistair allowed Morrigan to continue. “I. . .apologize for my misstep, Alistair.” Her attention fixed on her person, Morrigan added, “any fool would know better than to cross a sparring field, but I am relieved the effects were not long lasting and you seem none the worse.” Morrigan brushed her bare arms of imaginary dust and checked several buttons on her vest. Seeing nothing wrong she finally met Alistair’s incredulous gaze.

“Why thank you Morrigan that was almost sincere,” Alistair quipped.

With complete disinterest, Morrigan waved away Alistair’s sarcastic politeness. “You’re quite welcome. Now, if I may, I’d like to rest for I suspect we’ll arrive in a few short hours.”

He waited until Morrigan closed the door. “She’s such a delight to have around.” Alistair’s scowl disappeared with Lisette’s laugh. _It’s a good sign when she laughs at your not so funny remarks, right?_ The flush from her earlier tirade had all but faded, but Alistair remained fixed on what he’d heard. There could be no mistaking her concern for him, and it warmed him. He reached for her and then stopped, well aware of his audience; Alistair dropped his voice as quiet as he could. “Are you all right?”

A quick glance around him acknowledged they weren’t alone. “I am. Are you?”

He smiled nodding in response. “Defending me now? I’m flattered,” he said offering a gentle tease.

A strangled sound behind him revealed not even their quieted conversation was private and Alistair assured his mother he needed only a few minutes more.

Lisette’s firm grip on his hand tightened. “I should check the Hero’s engines, and I’ll look in on the boys down below.”

“Please stay,” he whispered before releasing her hand. The simple motion of Alistair’s attempt to sit down caused him to wince and he sucked in his breath.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?”  Lisette rushed forward, followed by Dela and Cullen.

“I’m fine.”

Lisette scoffed in reply. “No, you are not.” 

Despite his denial, Dela stepped closer. Holding his hand in hers, the peaceful waves of warmth spreading through him chased away the remnants of his injury, and Alistair exhaled in relief.

Dela addressed Cullen. “You were almost there, why didn’t you continue? Cullen, confidence is a part of being a mage; you have to believe to make it happen.”

He blanched. “Healing is not something I would normally try. I couldn’t dispel the magic and leave him, but I did the best I could while maintaining control.”

“Control?” Dela glanced at Alistair, and then toward Cullen. “You would not have harmed him, so why stop? When life is threatened, you do all you can.” She frowned. “I’m surprised at your indecision.”

Alistair had to interrupt. “Mother please, Cullen did what he could, there is no reason to question his motives.” 

Cullen had more than proven his loyalty. Alistair had welcomed his help; he needed those he could trust. “I value Cullen’s friendship and won’t allow anyone to put him to shame.” A quiet reply of thanks confused Alistair. _Is he so unassuming that any gesture of respect is a surprise?_ Alistair had to wonder if Cullen’s reluctance stemmed from his childhood losses.

Emphatic nodding and a warm smile from Dela proved her agreement. “I’m still unsure why Lavinia and Andrus were so concerned about you.” At the mention of the Templar proctor and First Enchanter concerns, Cullen cringed; the action not lost on Alistair.  

Head bowed, Cullen’s soft voice carried regret and resignation. “I should have remained at the Tower under the Templars careful scrutiny.”

Dela slammed her fist on the table surprising the whole company, and her expression darkened. “How like the Templars to insist a mage is better kept within walls than given a chance to flourish and succeed. If you are to build upon your gifts, you must use them unencumbered and free.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Cullen stood in a fluid motion; he sighed, opened his mouth to speak and then scoffed. “It’s not a gift, but a curse.”

Dela disagreed, rising to her feet. “That’s the Templars talking. Magic is not a curse. You have a kind heart, and a good head.”

Even in the dim light of the cabin, Alistair noted Cullen’s pained expression. He rubbed his face with both hands before flinging them down. “A kind heart and a good head don’t carry a body count–I do.”

Cullen reached into his shirt and pulled out a silver disc on a long chain. His thumb rubbed against the surface of the disc before he removed the chain. Draping the length over his fingers, he carried the object toward Alistair and held it out. “Open it.”

The front of the locket was simple enough, a replica of the old coins Ferelden used ages ago. They weren’t rare; you could find them in most jewelers in Denerim turned into encrusted adornments or basic jewelry. This was different. The image had almost worn away. “This is real,” Alistair said, feeling the heavy weight of the locket. Alistair slid the latch and with a muted click the locket sprang open.  The photograph similar to one of those you’d receive from a booth during the festivals in the city held a portrait of a young woman. She laughed in the sepia toned image, her head tilted in such a way her long pale hair covered half her face.

“Solona,” Cullen whispered her name. “Sol. I. . .she meant everything.” He sighed sinking to his chair. “She was all I had and I. . . I tried to save her.” He ignored the tear that fell exhaling sharply. “You need to know what I am capable of Alistair.”  Leaning back against his chair, coughed away his emotion and waited before sharing his story.

l-l-l

_It terrified me when I arrived at Kinloch. As a Rutherford I knew all about what happened at the Circle Towers, and especially to those mages who can’t control their magic. I was going to be locked away. Frightened and alone, I didn’t understand what was happening, or what the adults around me were saying. I stood in the corner of an empty room knowing I would never see the daylight._

_And then, a girl snuck into the room, her finger to her lips. “My name is Solona Amell. You’re Cullen, right?” She dug into a ratty linen sling bag and pulled out something wrapped in paper and held it out. “Go ahead, it’s food. My mom is upstairs arguing with the Templars, and I took the hint.”  I wasn’t sure what to do until she grabbed my hand and pressed the package to it. “Here-it’s just bread and a little cheese. I have milk too but eat. I’ll wait.”_

_She talked without breathing it seemed. Solona was a few years older, a mage like her mother and had learned how to sneak around the tower and barracks without getting caught. “Don’t worry, my mom won’t let anyone hurt you and, you’ve got me too.” The way she smiled, I knew it wasn’t a lie._

_Solona guessed right as I was allowed to remain in the tower providing I studied with constant supervision from the Templars and the Mages. For years they never left me alone. Almost never. I couldn’t understand why, but Solona always sought me out and talked with me even when others refused to acknowledge me.   She studied with me every night, and even when others taunted me it was Solona who fought back._

_“You’re not bad Cullen. Never listen to them. Promise me. Promise me you will try to see who you are.” Without her, I may have stayed away from people altogether, sure of being weighed and measured by everyone around me._

_By the time I turned thirteen, Solona had carved a permanent place in my heart. My time in the mage’s tower had ended and with it, I was sure it meant the end for us. The Templars were far stricter with my movements and associations.  Even when it seemed bleak, there she was sneaking notes and gifts into my room. When the locket appeared under my pillow a year later, I realized she’d lifted it from her mother’s office. The note with it explained she’d found it in a box with my family’s name on it. She’d added something extra-her picture._

_They had never allowed me to go to Redcliffe during the festivals. Sol had gone to nearly every one and each time she returned with a small bag of gifts or treats for us to share. Out of everything we shared, I wore the locket refusing to remove it unless I risked its confiscation._

_My time with the Templars passed even faster, and through it all Sol believed in me and I realized I cared for her. Perhaps it could never be, but I wanted her to know what she meant._

_On the night before my eighteenth birthday, the note she left carried the simplest of messages._

_West Library. Midnight._

_I planned to tell her how I felt, and to see if she might consider a misfit like me. All day long, everything that could go wrong did so in spectacular ways until I was ready to give up and turn in for the night. When I returned to my room, somehow Solona knew and had left me another note._

_Don’t be late._

_Even before I’d entered the library, I’d felt anxious and hyper-aware. A muffled cry from deeper inside turned into angry hisses that couldn’t have come from Solona. Without thinking to get help first, I ran through the stacks searching for her._

_I’d never been popular with the Templar recruits and had gotten used to the taunts and jeers from all corners. A Templar who could use magic had to be a freak of nature or an abomination at the least. Their bile had always been directed toward me until then. It took two of them to hold Solona still, her hands bound and mouth covered. She cried as she struggled until one struck her._

_I’d never felt such anger since I’d arrived and in that raw moment, I realized I wanted to make them hurt as they had hurt her. I wanted them to feel pain. I knew how to use elemental magic, but not how to control it or direct it, and as much as I wanted to avenge her captors I couldn’t risk harming Sol. So I bargained with them and offered my compliance for Solona’s release._

_It was all I could do to reassure Sol without words, keeping my eyes locked to hers as they bound my hands behind my back. None of them understood how magic worked, binding hands and gagging a mage didn’t stop magic-it only angered the mage. I had her promise to do nothing, to leave the library and return to her dorm. I was sure all that would happen was a beating. As long as she was safe, it didn’t matter what happened to me._

_I should have known better. I should have realized what was happening and acted first. Solona saw the blades held by two before I did, and while I watched she barreled into me as they struck; each of them stabbing her once.  The gravity of their action stunned the three and two of them dropped their blades and ran. The third babbled on about how it wasn’t supposed to happen, just a scare and nothing more. He loosened my bonds and swore to get help._

Cullen stopped and leaned forward, shaking his head. “I’d never healed anyone. I was still learning even then, but for Sol? I had to try.”

_With my hands free I lifted her to a nearby table and set her down with care. “Stay with me Sol.”_

_“I don’t think I can Cullen.” I saw her hand reach for my face and I bent closer. “It hurts to breathe.”_

_The slickness on her hand nearly made me gasp; she was bleeding heavily. “Sol, I don’t know how to heal this, what do I do?” Panic rose in my chest with each noisy breath from her. I knew I was losing her._

_“I love you,” she said, reaching for my face once more. “I trust in you-always. Do exactly what I say.”_

_Through quiet words and whispers she explained what to do, and although I followed everything precisely she howled in pain through my ministrations. I stopped, unwilling to continue._

_Her rapid breaths and constant flow of tears amid pleas to continue turned to fear as a second attempt tore a scream from her that shattered my heart. I was killing her. When help finally arrived, the Proctor pulled me away and set me under guard._

l-l-l

“Solona died that night,” Cullen finished with his head in his hands. “Though the attackers confessed, I should never have tried to heal her, my Templar skills fought against her magic and won.” He sighed. “I see now this was a mistake. I can’t risk grievous injury to any of you.” Standing he spoke to no one in particular, not meeting anyone’s concern. “It was Solona’s misplaced faith in me that killed her and I’ll not let the same happen to any of you.” He crossed to the door. “When we arrive in Orzammar, I will leave and return to the Tower where I belong.” Cullen left the room in stunned silence.


	15. Of Love, Loss and Fledgling Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's past revealed fails to chase the others away, but the seeds of loss take root in Alistair's thoughts. It will take more than simple words to steel Alistair's heart.

In the stillness of the room, Alistair’s aggravation flourished. He stood with such determination the chair almost toppled. “This time I will not sit still,” he said to no one and exited the cabin calling after Cullen.

Alistair’s voice carried on the night air. “Do you always treat your friends with such disrespect?”

Cullen turned and faced him. “I’m trying to protect all of you, why argue?”

“Why? Because you’re a bloody fool, that’s why. I can’t do this alone. My mentor is dead, my brother is dead, and it is more than likely that my father does not live. I need help. You swore to help me and now you’re leaving?”

Lisette and Dela joined the two, but it was Dela who pushed her way between them. “You’ve got it all wrong Cullen. Solona died from a stab wound, not your magic. There was nothing anyone could do. Not even her mother could heal her.”

He stumbled back a few steps. “But the Proctor said it was me, he told me later I shouldn’t use magic on mages.”

Dela tried to reassure him. “He was half right. Here. Let me show you.” Dela slipped a small push blade from her boot and cut her palm, sucking in her breath as she finished. “Now, heal the cut.”

He refused. “I can’t.”

“Listen. You cannot live in fear of who you are. That’s not how you were raised. You, Cullen Rutherford are a Templar gifted with the ability to use magic, and when you focus you are formidable. You have limitations as you should, no one is without flaws, but when a life hangs in the balance even the smallest gestures carry the greatest rewards.” She pushed her hand toward him. “Now heal it.”

He looked to Alistair for reassurance. “Forgive me,” he mumbled and placed his hand atop hers closing his eyes. Cullen’s concentration deepened, and Alistair was sure Dela was losing strength as her head drooped. Her arm shook in small tremors at first, forcing her eyes closed. Lips soon pressed together in a hard line and the tremor intensified until Dela asked Cullen to stop.

Dela’s balance seemed to falter as soon as Cullen released her hand and both he and Alistair reached out to steady her.

“I’m all right give me a moment.” She showed her palm revealing an angry red spot and tight white line the only evidence of the blade’s earlier damage.

Cullen’s jaw set, and his brow furrowed. “But I injured you.”

“No,” she replied. “You used my connection with the Fade to pull magic through me and repair the wound,” she explained. “Had you tried to heal a severe injury, my reaction would have matched Solona’s. Your two halves war within you; learning to tap each without the other’s interference may make a marked difference in your skills.”

Dela explained her theories; while most of it made little sense to Alistair, what he knew of the Templars played in his head. They could interrupt a mage’s connection with the Fade, severing the ability to alter reality and use it. Cullen had developed his skills as a Templar far more than his link to the Fade, and he favored that side of him. “Do you really believe Lavinia and Andrus would allow the man who killed their daughter to remain for years and serve? I can assure you, knowing my friends as I do, you would not have lived through the night had it been true.”

Cullen’s deep sighing strangled into a frustrated groan. “I took their kindness for pity, and their continued interest in my studies as precautionary.”  

Her eyes blinked several times. “You thought. . .Cullen you really can’t see it? You prove Andrus and his belief in non-violence is best in the Circle.” She held out her hands as if bowls on a scale. “The White Spire uses intimidation and brute strength to keep mages in line. They would continue the practice of forced tranquility if it hadn’t been outlawed in the Seheron Accord.” She lowered her right hand. “Your branch of the Order preaches mutual respect and understanding.  Each is allowed to grow and flourish without interference. Why else would there be a waiting list years long? Did you truly think it was because of Bryce’s construction? It’s compassion and cooperation that appeals to mages not a metal structure.”

His continued disagreement carried in the shake of his head as he spoke. “I cannot risk injury to another, not now.”

“Cullen, you need a guide -someone to help you learn to embrace what you’ve worked to suppress. I will help you as will Morrigan.”

Alistair scoffed. “I doubt that,” he said, suddenly aware, “and I said that out loud.”

“Yes, well,” Dela’s soft laughter brightened Alistair’s face. “It will take a bit of convincing on my part.”

 The rest of the trip to Orzammar would take three or four hours if the Hero maintained her current speed.  Alistair agreed to remain clear of any lessons on deck as long as a warning could be passed among the crew. “Let’s not have a repeat of what just happened, if you don’t mind.”

Before any could respond to Alistair, the lazy scuff of boots on the deck and on over-exaggerated yawn announced Zee had finally joined the group. “One big happy family,” he said stretching his arms while yawning again. “Although I must admit I quite prefer a little spice and excitement over such familial harmonies.” He rolled his shoulders straightening his waist coat. “When we next attack Alistair, you must allow me to take part, it looked to be rather bracing and I’ve always wanted to stage a coup without risking personal harm, of course.”

Lisette growled and stomped on Zee’s foot before wheeling around and heading toward the cargo hatch. When Alistair tried to ask her a question, she called back over her shoulder with two words. “Engine room!”

Clucking his tongue several times, he shook his head. “I will never understand this need for violence.” He turned to smile at Dela, but his expression quickly fell at seeing her narrowed gaze and crossed arms. “Did I say something inappropriate?”

Alistair shrugged. “Must have been the part where you offered to attack me and stage a coup.”

“No, no, no, no,” Zee held out his arms, shaking his hands. “You misunderstand, I have no desire to harm you, but if we decide to practice our skills, it would be my honor to _attempt_ to kill you-without actually doing so. There is a difference, my friend.”

From the corner of his eye, Alistair did not miss the growing displeasure on his mother’s face. Her arms held straight at her sides ended in clenched fists holding tight as magic surged around them. He pressed his lips together and glanced at Cullen.

Taking the hint, Cullen tapped Zee leaning close enough to whisper. Message delivered, Zee’s eyes widened, and he turned his attention to Dela. “Auntie Dela, you know I would _never_ ,” Cullen clasped his hand on Zee’s shoulder, and a half glance along with the slight dip of his shoulder changed Zee’s demeanor. A feigned laugh and a shrug preceded his concession. “Perhaps it would be best if I served as a lookout for a while.” he pointed up into the rigging.

Alistair answered almost immediately. “An excellent suggestion, thank you.”

Peace reigned once more on the Hero, despite her growing compliment. Alistair passed the time in the captain’s quarters, leaving the others to personal endeavors. Lisette appeared content in the hold, working intently on a project of some importance she’d said before giving him a smile and promising to find him later. Zee’s decision to join the crew and keep watch high above in the crow’s nest helped to ease the tension with Dela. That left Cullen, Morrigan and his mother to have the run of the large deck. After the first hour of explosions and cursing from Morrigan, he managed to tune out the training session and rest with Sprocket at his feet.

 

l-l-l

The darkened skies above churned with thick charcoal clouds in the increasing winds. Rain and hail pelted the Hero; each gust from the north battered the airship’s compliment. Dumped from his bed, Alistair struggled to stand as the Hero dipped and shifted from side to side and the door to the cabin slammed off one of its hinges.  

 _I should check on the crew,_ he thought, stumbling to the door.  The ship’s bell rang in rapid bursts followed by three separate rings reminding all to wear their harness and safety lines. Alistair’s safety gear hung on the wall. Stepping through the straps to fasten the harness, the pitching of the ship forced Alistair to shove his body against the door frame for stability to finish; the brass ring closest to the door would serve well enough for his tow line. With a clank of the hook onto the ring, Alistair tugged the line hard before daring to let go of the frame.

He’d never felt such violent motions on the Ostagar and wondered how the Hero struggled to remain upright when the Ostagar had seemed to shrug off the most volatile of storms. A systematic visual search of the deck noted the positions of all those continuing their work despite the winds and rain.  With no sign of his mother or the others, Alistair opened the hatch leading below.  Descending the ladder with care, he wasn’t prepared for what waited.

“That’s far enough.”  

The deep voice carried a disdain and arrogance Alistair had heard before. “Loghain.” With his back to his adversary, Alistair contemplated the easiest ploy. If he rushed Loghain fast enough, Alistair knew he had youth and strength on his side. Giving no clue to his plan, Alistair raised his hands in surrender, stepped back and pivoted in one swift moment, sprinting toward Loghain.

“I would stop right there, if I were you.”  

Alistair nearly fell halting his advance at the sight of Loghain pulling the hammer of a blusterbuss until it clicked and holding it dangerously close to Dela’s head. She would not survive if Loghain pulled the trigger.

“Good little princeling. I have little regard for you or your mother. You would do well to remember that.”  Loghain’s arrogance carried through in a widening grin, his dark eyes alight with sickening glee.

Anger flowed free through Alistair; his fists clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. He was powerless to act while Dela stood at Loghain’s mercy. “What do you want,” Alistair said through gritted teeth.  He noted how steady Loghain’s hand and arm held the firearm and realized he’d likely not unseat Loghain, not without help.

A mock face of contemplation angered Alistair even more, but he remained silent waiting for Loghain’s terms.

“I’ll take this airship if you don’t mind,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “and her captain.”

Alistair’s steeled glare passed from Loghain to Dela in time to see her mouth an apology.

_I’m sorry._

The message made little sense until he realized Dela planned to move against Loghain. He reacted to her subtle frown and tear-filled eyes further confirming she intended to sacrifice herself for him to escape. Alistair shook his head without thinking ready to step forward, knowing whatever action he took would be futile. It was Alistair’s movement that caught Loghain’s watchful eyes.

Dela used the momentary distraction to act; she reached for Loghain’s wrist and tried to twist free, but he deftly avoided her grasp extending his weapon arm fully. Alistair shouted as the gun discharged.

“No!” His mind screamed first but his lips and voice felt slowed and heavy. He cried out once more, eyes opening to a darkened cabin, his body slick with sweat and weighty from sleep. _I was dreaming_ , he thought, and pressed his eyes shut willing the images of the dream to dissipate.

It took time for Alistair to recover, the image of his mother’s apologetic tears still burned through his mind. It hadn’t happened; what he saw wasn’t real. Outside the skies were calm, and the Hero sailed through the air strong and steady. Dela’s voice carried through the window praising Cullen’s progress. Even Sprocket’s unconcerned mimicry of rest lent further proof all was well.  His head fell forward, allowing Alistair more time before venturing on deck again.

He sat at the edge of the bed, his renewed concern for the safety of Lisette and his mother kept him occupied longer than he realized; he missed Dela’s soft knock and entry. Alistair thought he imagined hearing her voice until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Did you rest?”

He stared at Dela for a moment not answering her question, his brows knit together.

“Alistair? Are you unwell?”

He sighed, the remnants of his nightmare heavy in his chest. Rising to his feet, two quick steps brought him to Dela, enveloping her in his arms. He’d spent his life so far without her, without knowing what having a family meant. He’d avoided Maric, often taking tasks and following Duncan all to avoid the man who claimed parentage. He couldn’t lose her, not now.

“Alistair, I need to breathe.” She coughed, and unsure if he’d hurt Dela, Alistair stepped back. The soft smile and the long sigh made him wonder if he’d done too much.

“I didn’t mean-”

Her outstretched arm and reach for his hand confused Alistair for a moment, but he took Dela’s hand. “What happened?”

The embarrassment of having a nightmare tinged his ears. “Nothing,” he said, but her pursed lips and discerning gaze forced him to change the subject. “If Loghain had something to do with Maric’s disappearance, what about you? Maybe it would be better if you weren’t with me?”

Dela disagreed. “Loghain has no idea where we are. I’ve made sure.” She tried to explain the extensive network she spent a lifetime building throughout Thedas. “My people are everywhere as are the Crows-plus friends that owe me favors like Isabela and the Raiders. If Loghain tries to get near you, he’ll regret it.” 

Even with her assurances, Alistair couldn’t shake the feeling he was putting her at risk. “But-”

She held up her hand. “No, don’t even try to argue. Your father learned that almost right away.  I’m horribly stubborn and won’t listen.”  She reached into her pocket and held out her closed fist. “Speaking of your father, I want you to have this,” she said, “I think he’d approve.”

His brow furrowed for a moment.  “What is it?” Accepting the gift, he realized she’d given him a woman’s necklace. “This was yours?”

 “A sentimental remembrance of happier times; of course I altered the pendant with Maric’s help.” She pointed toward it. “Maric had tried to make a rose for me, he’d watched me for countless hours with constructs and thought it easy enough to have a go. Unfortunately, it ended up rather sickly and misshapen.”

The pendant in his hands-a perfect replica of the flower-didn’t match her description. “It’s beautiful though.”

She nodded. “We worked together to fix it, reshaping the petals and adding the stem and leaves.  It was the only thing we ever did that didn’t result in arguments or one of us leaving.”  The wistfulness in her explanation matched his experiences with Maric. Alistair felt the urge to run whenever anyone forced him to interact with Maric. “I’ve nothing to give you that matches the love and care we both poured into that piece. I wish it could be more.”

“Thank you,” he answered, staring at the necklace resting in his open hand.

She closed his fingers around the necklace. “Love is rare and precious, like the flower. When you find it, share this with that person.”

Alistair wanted to say more, part of him wanted to understand what had happened between Dela and Maric that changed them, but Dela’s attention shifted to the door and by the bright smile and a quick glance toward Alistair, Dela excused herself.

He questioned her departure turning to follow her, only to stop when Lisette stepped through the door. “I’m disturbing you,” she concluded, her disappointment written on her expression.

Eager to stop the retreat, Alistair bumped into a chair and yelped. “Ow! Wait. . .please.” The embarrassment of his clumsiness appeared on his face without permission. “Before I trip over my feet, please, come in.”

A shiny black cloth covered something carried in Lisette’s hands; she placed the object on the tabletop and exhaled on a sharp burst. “So, I wanted to. . .you see. . . I thought.” She closed her eyes. “This sounded so much better in my head.”

He tried not to laugh, the truth hit him squarely; he often experienced the same tongue–tied obstacle whenever he wanted to be serious. And then it hit him. _She wants to discuss something serious_. He swallowed hard, hoping it wasn’t a gift, because he had absolutely nothing to give in return.

“We’ve less than an hour until we reach Orzammar and,” she sighed, “why is this so hard?”

Concern and the need to console her carried him closer, his attention passed to the covered object. He hoped he might set her at ease.  “Did you want to show me something?”

“In a manner of speaking yes, but it’s more correct to say I made something for you.” She reached for the cloth and stopped. “It’s just. . .when you acquire the Griffin, we may not get to see each other for a long time.”

He stammered out a response disbelieving. “But. . .but why?” He thought about their kiss in the hold and wondered if he’d misunderstood. “I thought-” Alistair stopped, realizing he might make an even bigger fool of himself and turned away, hoping she hadn’t read the hurt he felt. _There you go again, assuming anyone could care for the likes of you._

“Alistair, please don’t misunderstand. I know I don’t belong here, I have nothing to offer. I’m a tinker’s daughter, not a mage or a fighter. All I can do is keep things running. You don’t need me.”

It was always the same, everyone making decisions for him, never allowing Alistair to decide what was best for him or what he wanted most, but he’d had enough. He shook his head. “That’s not true.  This whole journey has been one impossibility after another, and then when you kissed me it all made weird sense. I mean not all the bad stuff that happened, of course none of that, if I could change it I would. You see, I’ve been pushed aside and forgotten since I can remember, and I got used to it- even welcomed it.”

“Alistair, I’m sorry.” 

Now he’d started down this path of honesty, he couldn’t stop. “Lizzy, let me say this. I think I can do this-be the Theirin everyone expects, but I need you with me. You see?” When she didn’t reply he tried again. “I never noticed it before, but there’s this thing,” he tapped his chest, “inside here, that when you’re around, like now it feels-right- like you’re supposed to be here with me, and when you’re gone like before? I feel like something’s missing. It’s you.” He finished with a bout of inward cringing sure she’d run away from him as quick as she could.

Lisette didn’t run, in fact, she stepped closer until she stopped leaving very little space between them. He tried not to smile and failed. “Hello beautiful.”

Her eyes widened. “No! Not yet!”

She wriggled free just as the cloth seemed to lift into the air on its own.

“What–what is that?”

Saying little but motioning to the open cabin door, Alistair took the hint and closed it. “Say _goodnight, my dear_.”

Confused, he simply repeated the words. “Goodnight my dear?”

“No, not like that, like you mean it, just like you would say it to me.”

His heart skipped when she’d asked; and any doubt remaining of her thoughts toward him disappeared. “Like this?” He joined her shifting his head closer. “Goodnight. . . _my dear_.” Alistair wasn’t prepared for the shiver that took her, but whatever had awakened beneath the cloth fell silent and Lisette removed the covering.

“Wow,” he whispered, not bothering to hide his amazement. A small gold and silver bird lay on its side. Ornate filigree formed its wings, and a smooth golden cap comprised its head. He realized the endearment he’d uttered affected the bird in some way. “It’s a construct.”

She hummed in response with a quick glance over her shoulder toward him. “She’s a hummingbird and all yours. She’ll answer to you with the wake and sleep words.” 

He grinned for a moment, his bravado returning. “Does that mean I’ll have to find something more appropriate for you?”

“I think I can share.”

The ship’s bell announced the arrival of the Hero and Lisette gathered the small bird and held it to her. “I’ll find a cage in the city and return her to you soon-I promise.” Lisette turned and hurried to the door, but something held her back. She turned and joined him once more, pressing her lips against his. “Be safe,” she whispered before rushing away and out into the afternoon sun.

Once Lisette had left, Alistair realized he still gripped the rose necklace in his hand


	16. The Fires Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival at Orzammar should have been a quick stop, but when things don't go as planned, Alistair upsets a delicate balance. Compounding the problem is yet another revelation about Dela which leads Alistair to abandon his plan in favor of righting a terrible wrong.

The Industrial Age in Thedas carried with it changes both expected and surprising. Tevinter’s venture into the clouds had been long speculated; New Minrathous’ ascension into the skies earned little excitement, but when the plans for the multi-tiered city in the mountains above Orzammar leaked, all of Thedas wondered how the dwarves had ever stopped arguing long enough to agree to such a radical plan.

The truth of the matter rested with the constraints of Orzammar. Dug deep into the earth, with no place left to go, the dwarven leaders did the unthinkable and agreed to build upward and breach the surface.

Old Orzammar, known now as the Undertow had transformed into a complex series of passageways and tunnels connected by conveyors, elevators and cable cars. Anything that required refinement, smelting, or metal work was funneled through these systems to the fires below. The eradication of darkspawn and the last archdemon had freed the stone from the threat that had once kept their ancestors from exploration.

Families banded together, pooling their resources to create larger alliances further extending the dwarves’ reach and their worth. The mid-level did the unthinkable, giving the stone dwellers a chance to venture above ground. Treated glass and metal plating diffused the sunlight allowing those who did not wish to work could still live without seeing the harsh light of the sun and the surface.

Even Dela’s abbreviated explanation of Orzammar fascinated Alistair. The delay while waiting for the airship dock to clear barely registered. “Then all this is what? Surface dwarves?”

Dela nodded pointing out the massive towers. “The southern tower has no windows, named for the dwarven word for _duty_ , Amgetoll houses the Shaperate, Dwarven Assembly, and noble families. Only those invited may enter.”

Questions buzzed around his head with each pass of the massive structures. “And the northern tower?”

“It’s known as Amgeforn, it means _sacrifice_ in their language. That’s our destination; Firand Ortan maintains a vast merchant network and his seat in the Assembly, but he divides his time between the two towers. It’s there that all are welcome regardless of origin or race., but Firand will no doubt want to hurry us along.”

The raised brow from Alistair asked the question even before he spoke it aloud. “Why?”

Something in Dela’s face changed; Alistair couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a brief pain had gripped her. “Firand,” she paused, and for a moment Alistair wondered why talking about one of her friends caused such distress. Dela exhaled. “Firand didn’t approve of my relationship with your father. He’d warned me against Maric several times and made it clear it wasn’t in my best interest.”

“So he was jealous?” It seemed a logical conclusion to Alistair.

"No, Firand was and still is very devoted to his wife and daughter. He claimed to know Maric’s mind better than any of us.” The tall spires of the northern tower of Amegeforn passed from view as the Hero took another loop around the city. “Maric was an opportunist, and sometimes decisions were made with little thought to the consequences outside his immediate need.” She stopped. “That was unfair, before I left, Maric tried to work through problems, looking at options and asking for the input of those around him. I still believe it was Loghain who soured Maric’s viewpoint and urged him to take a more demonstrative stance.”

“But how?” Alistair couldn’t understand, but he admitted to knowing very little of who Maric really was, but a more pressing concern considering Firand’s dislike of Maric might cause problems for Alistair. “Can we trust Firand?”

A deckhand interrupted their conversation to report the dock was waving the Hero to approach. Both Dela and Alistair acknowledged the report and waited until the man left.

Gripping his shoulders Dela’s eyes locked to Alistair. “I need you to promise me something, and maybe I should be more cautious, but don’t stray too far on your own. We won’t be afforded the protections of the Assembly, not until you’ve been official sworn as Ferelden’s heir. Here, you are a man with a price on his head. Never forget that. Stick close to Cullen and Leliana. If you end up separated from us, look for Isabela, you can trust her.”

“I thought you didn’t trust Isabela? On Llomerynn, you had her men practically tossed from your home.”

The clanging of bells and shouts for the tow lines halted their conversation. Calls for slow movements and steady hands set the Hero at her slip, a final groan signaling her engines idling. “There’s little time. Stick with Cullen and Leliana. I’ll find you as soon as I’m finished in the city.”

Alistair’s eyes widened realizing the Dela wasn’t going with them; his dream of Dela at Loghain’s mercy added conviction to his words. “No, we stay together. If what you say is true, and I am hunted for the price on my head, then you are the perfect target to lure me in.”

Her shoulders fell and Dela conceded to Alistair’s point. “Fine, but not a word. The people I need to meet are not the sort that you should be associated with in any way. Zee can watch over Morrigan and Lisette.” Dela asked Alistair to wait while she conferred with the others.

 _She’s trying to protect me, I get that._ He leaned on the railing overlooking the city from the southern dock. Columns of steam rose in varied shades ranging from white to charcoal black, each giant plume a reminder of the industry far below, but there were two plumes that caught Alistair’s attention. Thin and almost string like in appearance, they spiraled upwards cutting through the low haze of exhaust rising from the Undertow in sickly blue tinted coils.

 “You can see it,” Cullen joined Alistair, nodding toward the city center. “The dwarves mine and refine lyrium here. The last remaining vein is somewhere underground.”

 There was a time when raw lyrium existed in rich deposits throughout the deep roads, but the deeper the dwarves excavated they weakened structures eventually resulting in catastrophic collapses. Rumors of untouched and pure deposits circulated through the ages, but none were ever found. 

Sections of memories discussing the known lyrium veins suddenly disappeared from the Shaperate at the start of a new age. Thought to be a much-needed calm the poorly named Tranquil Age was anything but, and the theft of memories was only the beginning. Civil wars broke out within the Chantry itself and the Templar Order leading to one of the bloodiest ages in all of Thedas’ past.

Leaders from every corner gathered in Seheron and unanimously passed the Seheron Accord, abolishing the use of the tranquility rite, the sale of lyrium outside the Templar Order and a host of other impactful changes meant to calm the troubled lands. It was these proclamations that spurred creative minds to find new innovations where magic could no longer be used. Tevinter had led the way, magic taking its leave to make way for a stronger and more alchemical based society.

Following in their footsteps Orzammar and their multi-tiered city bridged the widening gap between all races within Thedas.

Alistair’s heart sunk heavy in his chest. Duncan’s tutelage had guaranteed the rich and often frightening history of Thedas was part of Alistair’s training. _Recognize the faults of the past and learning from them that was his point; he’d made sure I understood everything-even the worst parts of our history._

Without turning toward Cullen, Alistair offered what he knew. “The Templars necessitate the lyrium mining; do you think they care about the risk to Orzammar?”

“I couldn’t say, but I believe this is the only active site-all the rest were lost or buried.” Cullen gripped the rail in front of him. “This place is more dangerous than Llomerynn. You should remain wary with every step.”

There was cause for concern, Cullen wasn’t being overly protective. “With the possibility of Knights of the Order likely in residence, you don’t have to come with me.”

Cullen disagreed. “It’s unlikely I’m known on sight, I’ve done as Lady Ghilain asked and put aside the Templar robes.” His forehead creased, a passing thought seemed to concern him. “I will remain on board if you think it better.”

Alistair never wanted to be a leader; he’d been content to follow Duncan, but now that others looked to him beyond his duties on the airship, Alistair questioned every decision. “You’re right, unless our overly eager assassin decides to turn you in, we should be fine.”

They laughed at the thought; at last report, Zee had fallen asleep in the Crow’s Nest, and at least had the presence of mind to secure his harness and line. “It might be worthwhile waking him,” suggested Alistair, but the two quickly decided to leave Zee to his nap.

Even Dela’s carefully detailed history lesson about Orzammar failed to capture the awe-inspiring sights greeting them at the dock. Most of the lifts and conveyances Alistair had seen were primitive and bland compared to the ornate cage carrying them from the airship dock to the mid-level entrance.

He couldn’t hide the smile on his face seeing Lisette’s wide-eyed wonder. She shifted around and around as they descended, her shifts and spins dizzying to watch. When Dela explained they’d have little time for sightseeing, Alistair quickly promised to plan a return visit.

“What good is it to be Ferelden’s Regent, if we can’t take time to enjoy what Ferelden offers her citizens?” 

The iron doors opened, and the party stepped out, but Alistair felt a sharp tug on his arm. “A moment?” Dela’s soft tone and a light smile turned serious as she pulled him away from the group. “Send Lizzy back to the Hero.”

It would disappoint her, Alistair wanted to say, and the last thing he wished to do was disappoint Lisette, not after the display and excitement she’s shown. “But-”

Dela met his protest head on. “Firand should have met us at the dock. There is no one here, what does this tell you?”

He didn’t know what to think. “Perhaps your message was delayed or Firand misunderstood when we planned to arrive?”

Conceding the possibility, Dela offered to deliver the bad news; she stepped closer, quieting her voice. “Would you risk her safety? Would you give any opposition the means to coerce you?”

At first, Alistair thought to argue, but he wondered if his dream had been a warning. No matter who was held against him, Alistair wouldn’t risk a life to save his own. “No, I’ll do it.” He sighed and muttered walking away from Dela. “She’ll likely hate me for this.”

Lisette stood apart from them leaning on the safety railing overlooking the midlevel. She teetered on the tips of her toes, neck craning to see every corner. The sigh of pure contentment that left her as he approached nearly derailed Alistair’s plan. He stood behind her, trying to find the perfect opening, but settled on what he saw as the easy way. “Hello, beautiful.”

Lisette turned and smiled, the joy and giddiness he’d seen in the lift had increased; her eyes bright and excited smiled along with her, leaving a growing hollowness deep in his stomach. “What should we see first?” Her excitement bubbled over even more, and she grabbed his hand with a tug to follow her.

“Lizzy. . .Lisette, I promise to bring you here again, I swear I will.” His expression fell, and he had to will his eyes not to look away from her, she deserved that much. “It’s not safe; I need you to return to the Hero. Tell Zee something went wrong.”

She laughed-a halfhearted attempt to pretend she was in on what had to be a joke. “Go back? I’m not going back, not yet.”

Reaching for her hands, he held them in his. “Lizzy please. Dela thinks something is wrong, I can’t risk losing you, not when we’ve only-”

“Wait,” she said, pulling free of him. “You’re serious?”

“Lizzy. I-”

She shook her head and sliced through the air with her hands. “No, I will not be sent away like some. . .some attendant! This place speaks to me and you would deny me a chance to see what is possible?” Lisette stopped and quieted her voice. “Alistair, please. This place, this wonder is a sign of what could be. Think of what I might learn here, what I could discover and bring to Denerim. Think of what we might accomplish.”

 _We_ , he thought, his disappointment in himself growing with each second, _she said we-and I am not going to give in, even if she ends up hating me._

“Not this trip,” Alistair said, reaching for her. “We’ll come back.”

Her expression darkened, lips pressed together stepping out of reach. “Don’t bother. Forgive me for assuming so much, _Your Grace_.”

With two simple words, she’d cut through him. Alistair tried to explain, but Lisette refused to listen.

Morrigan and Leliana interrupted steering Lisette back toward the lift. Even though she didn’t argue, her disappointment rang clear in the disbelief on her face. Alistair managed a weak apology, but it was Lisette’s backward glances at him that tore him apart.

l-l-l

Dela said nothing more leading Alistair and Cullen through darkened passageways and down staircases that seemed to go on forever. After nearly an hour had passed, Alistair had to ask where they were going.

“The Undertow,” Dela said, beckoning to them both.

Cullen and Alistair exchanged a glance, but Cullen spoke first. “This seems a little off the path, my lady.”

“You’re right. I’m not proud of everything I do, but some things and associations are necessary to stay one step ahead. I have a contact here that handles work of a more _delicate_ nature, and what I need to know requires his assistance.”

Disbelief and confusion halted Alistair’s steps. “Wait a minute. When you say delicate nature-”

“I mean delicate as in not _entirely_ legal, Alistair. Not everything runs like a normal business and there are times when rules are bent to help those who are unable to secure what they need through proper channels.” She glanced around the immediate area. "In this case, I'm going to defy some very powerful people." 

The ease of Dela’s admission disturbed him; if he looked beyond her words, then his mother admitted to illegal activities. “Now, hang on. What are you saying?” Dela hushed him and moved closer. “Are you telling me. . .my mother . . .besides the pirates, and the constructs and the Crows,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “are you a smuggler as well?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Alistair, really. Your mentor was a thief and quite a good one before he was caught and forced into service as a Warden. Is it that difficult to see that what I do helps those who need it? I buy favors and aid when so many look the other way. And I am often called on to do the distasteful on occasion, but if it helps the less fortunate, what harm is there?”

He threw his hands up, pacing in a tight line. “What harm is there?” He scoffed. “What _harm_ is there?” Squeezing his eyes shut, Alistair grabbed his neck with both hands. He’d never asked Duncan about his crime, it just wasn’t done, but if Duncan had redeemed himself and proven himself to earn promotions and the trust of his father and brother, why couldn’t he accept the same of his mother. _That’s why_ , he thought shaking his head before meeting Dela’s curiously amused grin. “You’re my mother. Shouldn’t you be more-I don’t know-mother-like?”

She laughed and tugged on his sleeve. “I promise to take up knitting or darning socks when time allows. Will that be sufficient? For now, we must hurry. Firand will no doubt begin to wonder why we are late.” She sighed, her shoulders curving inward. "You'll have to trust me; my reasons are my own, but I can't let this go."

The deeper they traveled down metal staircases and rickety lifts, each step seemed more precarious than the last. Giant cylindrical containers moved along the sides, their gradual movement and even more laborious ascent no doubt necessary for safety. The intricate railway provided additional support to the excavated caverns.

Dela’s running commentary was all but unheard by Alistair. He grappled with his expectations versus the truth of Dela’s personality and wondered how she earned such a reputation as a defender of rights and yet, Alistair didn’t believe his mother was deceitful; she’d hidden nothing from him since they’d met. _It’s just revealed piece by piece_ , he thought, _none of this changes who she is._

The air thickened, taking on added weight, clinging to Alistair’s clothes and skin. He breathed in stale air, his lungs complaining in rasping coughs. It was then Alistair’s nose began to itch; a foul odor filled his nostrils and forced his eyes to water. Raising his hand to block out the smell, Alistair glanced toward Cullen; he shared Alistair’s reaction. Only Dela seemed unfazed; she promised they were almost at their destination and the way back would be far easier.

“Two more floors down, and then when I’m finished, we’ll take the main lift back to the midlevel.” Dela explained they were on the periphery of the refineries, the smell emanated from the heat vents beneath them mixing with the refining process. “It takes a lot to get used to the stench.”

Alistair and Cullen nodded in agreement, neither wishing to remove their hands.

Dela’s laughter and admonishments carried them to their destination. A dimly lit shack tucked underneath the metal staircase. The metal had rusted quite some time ago, by the look of it. Alistair couldn’t be sure what the building had been before it started to fall apart. There were no doors or windows; a living space constructed out of metal planks. “Cullen, would you stand watch? Alistair, if you would?” Dela gestured toward the door, and Alistair rapped his knuckles on the metal door a shower of dingy red and grey flakes falling from the effort. 

The quieted voice within instructed them to enter.

It wasn’t until they entered that Alistair understood. A young child of seven or eight lay on the bed, her skin paled peppered with mottled red splotches on her skin.

He gasped and the sight of the child pulled Alistair closer. He paused and asked permission of the man sitting at the girl’s bedside. “May I?”

“Alistair, she’s ill from lyrium poisoning, the dust is everywhere. Catelin and her father can’t leave without funds and they’ve nowhere to go. We’ll be taking them with us, as I’ve found help for them both.” Dela smoothed the girl’s hair tucking a loose strand behind the child’s ear-her pointed ear.

His expression soured realizing that there were still elves in forced labor; he'd operated under the assumption they had moved on from forced labor. “You’re slaves, aren’t you.” There was no question in his statement, anger swelled at the thought of a child forced to work for the Templar Order. “Mother, we’re not leaving them. They’re coming with us, not later, but right now.”  His brows knit together. “How many others?”

Dela shook her head, but Alistair refused to concede, dropping to his knee he asked the girl’s father the same question.

“There are only eight of us left, Ser.”

 _Only eight_ , Alistair thought. “And how many were you?” He almost dreaded the answer, sure it would far worse than Alistair could imagine.

“My wife died last winter, but all told our clan had twenty-five when we arrived here.”

Alistair refused to hear anymore. “We’re leaving. Forget the Griffin, I don’t need it. What I need is to stop this. How could my father allow it? I thought slaves were outlawed in the Seheron Accord?”

“They aren’t considered slaves, no one owns them, but still-no one cares for them either.” Dela tried to convince Alistair it wasn’t the proper time. This would take planning. “To take on the Order? Alistair we need a strategist, more men and a plan. This type of work has gone on for years without a word.”

Alistair called for Cullen and met his mother’s eyes. “That changes now.”


	17. Liberation and Lyrium Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's determination to free the Templar's labor force earns them the attention of another. In order to continue, Alistair agrees to a task that could end poorly for one of his companions.

The shouts from the pits below called for Alistair to stop. Unsure if the Templars still used conventional weaponry or firearms, he hurried the small group ahead of him. “Follow the man in front and do not stop no matter what you hear,” he repeated his instructions until the last of the workers passed him and his mother stopped to catch her breath.

“Did you really think,” she huffed, exhaling sharply before Alistair gripped her elbow. Dela waved him off, continuing her climb with Alistair matching her pace. “Did you really think the Templars would let you simply walk free with their labor force?”

He helped her reach the landing and enter the lift where Cullen and the others waited. “Of course not, but I couldn’t care less what those drug fueled zealots want. This,” he gestured toward the huddled group as the lift rose several floors to the continued shouts of the Templars below. “This is unforgivable. If this is what the Order has become, I want every blasted Templar out of Ferelden!” He glanced over his shoulder to Cullen. “Not you, of course. I meant no offense.”

Cullen raised a brow and shrugged. “None taken. Perhaps the Tower might be the best place for this group to heal and rest until they are well?”

The idea was sound. The Proctor would never allow the Templars from the Spire to enter and any act of force would meet with a terrible opposition.  Alistair could send Dela and Lisette with the Hero. “We’d still have to get the Griffin, but I may have ruined our chances of doing so.”  

Leliana met the group at the airship dock. “You should know the Templars search for kidnapped workers and the mercenaries who took them.” She explained everything she’d overhead and cautioned him not to linger. “If these are the workers, then you must be the mercenary band. I believe I can assume the rest of their claims filled with half-truths?”

Alistair nodded. “Are we prepared to leave? I’ll need your help. Dela and Cullen will take our passengers to the Tower with Lisette and Morrigan if you will accompany me.”

Morrigan waited until the last refugee boarded the Hero before joining them. “Lisette may not listen to you, but after this little display, you have my thanks-there are so few who would risk everything for others.”

He had no response to her words, but gave Morrigan a half-smile. “Get the Hero free and go. If we find the Griffin, we’ll join you.” Alistair barely heard the protests around him as he asked Morrigan to wait. “Tell Lisette,” he stopped, unsure what to say, “it. . . never mind.”

Morrigan stared at him for a moment. “I will be sure to explain what you have done for these people. If she cannot see reason, then the fault is hers.” She turned and walked away leaving Alistair stunned.

His brow raised twice in disbelief. “That sounded like Morrigan actually supported my decision.”

Leliana’s slight grin confirmed it. “And so it did. Shall we?”

Cullen returned with Zee in tow. “Not without us. The crew understands and waits for the lady,” he said with a nod in Dela’s direction, but by the frown on Dela’s face she did not want to leave.

“I’m staying with you Alistair; you’ll need my help with the Griffin.”

The lift near the dock engaged, the logical conclusion led to the notion they were about to have company. “Please go, only you can convince the Proctor to risk his neutrality and help these refugees, and there isn’t time to argue.” Alistair couldn’t risk losing the elves that had put their trust in him. “We’ll be fine.”

The hollow click and deep cough from the shadows froze Alistair in place. Whoever it was had cocked a firearm and likely held them in his sights. The voice that issued from the shadows was unfamiliar to all except one. “You shouldn’t have come, Vanda.”

“Fir, please don’t,” Dela replied stepping in front of Alistair. “Alistair is here for the Griffin, let him go and I’ll stay.”

At first Alistair didn’t realize the dwarf holding them at gunpoint was Firand Ortan. His long hair was braided in tight rows; its rust color grayed in streaks at his temples. Firand’s heavily tattooed face reminded Alistair of one of Duncan’s lessons surrounding the now defunct Legion of the Dead. A sect of specialized warriors known for hunting darkspawn and demons in the Deep Roads, their order had passed into legend. “You’re a Legionnaire?”

Firand scoffed. “You’re the little bastard, aren’t you? Should have known you’d show up.” Firand shook his head, held the gun away from them and pulled the trigger. “Wasn’t loaded,” he said. “All right, where is that low life nug humper?”

“Sorry?” Alistair turned to look at Dela, but Leliana quickly interrupted.

“Perhaps now is not the right time, but might I remind all that the lift will more than likely soon bring the Templars here?”   

A grumbling sigh carried Firand toward the lift; he pulled open a metal box and lifted a small lever, gears and a motor wound down until the lift halted with a hollow thud. Down below a collective groan and shouts for help left Alistair’s group stunned. Slow trudging steps carried Firand toward the staircase. “If you’ve got those elves, get ‘em out of here Vanda, but I’ll need a favor in return for the Griffin.”

Quick steps carried Alistair to follow Firand. “Let my mother and the Hero leave and whatever it is-consider it done.”

Firand pursed his lips a few times, giving the impression he chewed on his response or at least considered Alistair’s promise. With a dismissive wave, Firand ordered Dela to go; he’d let the Templars finish their ascent if she didn’t leave immediately.

Alistair’s determination overshadowed Dela’s reluctance. They would meet up as soon as possible at the Tower, but it took a few more convincing words from Cullen and Leliana before Dela agreed. The Hero pulled away from the dock leaving Alistair and the others to follow Firand.

They descended for several floors until Firand stopped and faced Alistair, reaching into a pocket on his shirt to pull out a pair of glasses. The small square frames barely covered his sunken dark brown eyes, but once seated on Firand’s face, he stared at Alistair. “You’re definitely Maric’s son, but you haven’t pissed me off yet; nice to know being an ass isn’t hereditary.”

A crooked smile and a quick glance to the others confirmed they too found amusement in their guide. “Thanks, I think.”

Another louder scoff trailed off into a mumbling grumble. “Don’t let it go to your head, kid. That father of yours has a lot to answer for, but you didn’t choose your parents-so, not your fault.”

“Maric has been missing for years and you talk about him like nothing happened,” a slight bit of hurt found its way into Alistair’s words. Despite his estrangement, Maric was still family.

Their procession stopped short and Firand wheeled around to face Alistair. “Since when?” He looked away, scratching his beard. “Has it been so long since we talked? You’re what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Uh no, I turned twenty this year and Maric has been gone near almost five years.”

He nodded in response and muttered. “That would explain why I had received noreplies.” Firand’s next question surprised Alistair. “And Cailan?”

Alistair couldn’t believe news hadn’t reached Orzammar, but his expression must have given a hint to his fate even before Alistair answered. “Killed by one of Loghain’s men aboard the Ostagar, the ship went down with Warden Duncan aboard-but then you probably didn’t know him.”

Firand didn’t answer immediately; he pulled out a flat key and inserted it into a slot along the wall. “I knew him. I knew him well, too. Sorry, kid. This is not what any of us had expected.” A latch disengaged, and the wall opened inward. “In here, all of you. The Griffin is hidden in the Assembly’s private hangar.”  

Standing apart from his companions Alistair’s eyes remained locked on Firand. _Not what they expected? Who? The more I learn I have to wonder just how close Maric was with his so-called friends. What of Duncan? He’d always made it seem as though he had no ties to any but the Wardens._ Alistair sighed and shook his head.

The half laugh and half cough from Firand followed up with a slap on Alistair’s arm. “I know, kid. Trust me. I wish I didn’t. We’ll talk more later. Time to see if the old girl still works.” Giving Alistair a light shove to the right Firand continued through the dark hallway shouting at the group to stick together and not linger.

 

l-l-l

They’d walked through endless corridors from his perspective, the air stale and thickened with each new passageway. The natural light had diminished so much; Alistair feared bumping into whoever walked in front of him until Firand appeared with a torch. “It’s time to talk about that favor.”

Alistair’s anticipation pushed him once more to agree without terms. “Whatever it is, I will see it done.”

Firand said nothing at first, and the shadows cast by the flame from the torch appeared to change Firand’s expression with every movement. Cullen was the next to speak, affirming Alistair’s oath.

And then, something seemed to grab hold of Firand, deflating him in a diminished sigh that concerned Alistair. “I had no choice you see. No choice in anything. The Templars. . .they. . .my daughter.”

Before Alistair could speak, Leliana burst between them. “What have they done?”

Firand did not look to her, but kept his eyes fixed on Alistair; their glossy sheen accentuated in firelight. “They took my Coryn to the White Spire. She’s your age Alistair, but she’s no warrior. I fear the worst.”

“Then we go,” Leliana said. “If the Templars of the Spire are taking civilian prisoners, we must have proof to shut it down.”

“ _You’re_ with the Chantry?” Firand took several steps away from Leliana.

She nodded. “In a manner of speaking, I am, but my affiliation and purpose is of little consequence in this moment.” Leliana shifted her attention to Alistair. “I’m going with you.” 

“The White Spire is heavily guarded,” Firand explained, “Even with Chantry permission to enter, you’ll find it difficult to make your way to the prison area.” His shoulders sagged even more, leaving Alistair concerned for Firand’s stability on his feet. He reached out, laying a steady hand on Firand’s shoulder.

“I’ll bring Coryn home.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Firand shook free. “The lyrium is nearly gone, we can’t go any deeper and you’ve seen what it does to those who try. I tried to end their mining license in the Assembly and they took her. No one here will dare face the Templars, not with the reach they have.”

Alistair had heard enough. He couldn’t understand how the Spire had managed to hide these events from the Chantry and the leaders of both nations in the south. “This nightmare rule must end.”

The group agreed, but it was Zee who offered a possibility. “If I may? There might be a solution to the situation, and while I may not have quite proven my effectiveness since joining this little group, I have-as they say-a brilliant idea, but first we must find the Griffin, no? For without the means to sail the skies we will lose valuable time.”

The reassurances offered by Alistair reflected in Firand’s demeanor. He straightened and quickly approached Zee with a scowl. “I know you.”

Zee’s head wobbled slowly from side to side. “It is possible you do, I am after all the magnificent Zee, pirate and smuggler of some renown.”

“No. You’re the pain in the ass nephew of Vanda’s. Yvarra’s brat.”

Clutching his chest, Zee settled on his feet. “Your words wound me like tiny arrows. I am not a brat, as you say,” he paused. “But I must admit I am intrigued to learn how it is that you are acquainted with my mother.”

The loud scoff and grumble for the group to keep moving ended the conversation briefly, but Zee picked up his questions in earnest.

“Have you ever been to Antiva then? I am almost certain mother has not traveled this far, for surely she would have said something to me.” He turned to Leliana as they walked. “For obvious reasons I am her favorite.”

“You’re an only child- _Zevran_.” Firand said, stopping their advance and facing Zee with a cold stare.

“Now my heart has broken. To have my name used in such a manner is-”

“Let it go, Zee.” Alistair’s warning rang loud through the halls and he hoped it would be enough to end the exchanges. Eager to find the Griffin and be on their way, the travel to the Spire in Val Royeaux wouldn’t be long, but the idea of an innocent jailed there did not resonate well within him. “How much further?”

The corridors had been an endless land of dark corners and poorly lit walkways. The air warmed as they moved deeper into the darkened halls. The rising temperature and increasing thickness made it more difficult to breathe. Alistair noticed only he seemed troubled by the heaviness. His face slick with sweat, a wave of nausea slowed him so much; he stopped and rested against a wall.

Removing his waistcoat, Alistair unbuttoned his shirt to his chest. “Why is it so hot in here?”

Leliana called back to him. “It’s not; you aren’t used to such enclosed spaces.”

He tried to answer as his coughing increased. “I don’t-” He finished his sentence silently _-feel so well._

 The floor beneath him seemed to liquefy and standing upright became a struggle.

“Alistair?”

The voice sounded like Cullen, but it had slowed considerably distorted words that followed had little meaning in their drawn-out rumbling. It was then that Alistair’s skin began to burn. “Oh, that’s new. Can we stop? I seem to be on fire.” Unable to bear the increasing pain, his knees gave way and Alistair slumped to the floor.

 

_Eyes opened to a different scene, Alistair sat in Cailan’s study, his brother flipping through papers and talking non-stop._

_“I guess there is little to be done about that.”_

_Alistair kept still, his eyes darting around._

_“So, what do you think? Will you go back with Duncan or have I convinced you to remain another week?”_

_"I was in Orzammar. This is definitely not Orzammar. What is going on?"_

_“Alistair?”_

Say something you idiot.  _“Cailan. Ummm, I don’t . . .what we were talking about?”_

_His brother laughed so rich and full; the joyful sound made Alistair’s heart ache. “Head in the clouds again, brother?”_

No, you’re dead. How do I tell him that? You’re not here. Or maybe?

_Alistair considered one other possibility. “Am I dead?”_

_Cailan rolled his eyes. “No, just a little sick.”_

_“Sick?”_

_Cailan nodded. “I’m not really here and neither are you. I hear your friends working to heal you because you can hear them too.”_

_“I can?”_

_Rising from his chair, Cailan walked around his desk and rested against it. Alistair had seen him do the same thing countless times. “Lyrium Dust. When you helped the elves.”  Cailan smiled. “You should be proud of what you did.”_

_“What? Getting sick?”_

_Another laugh from Cailan did nothing for Alistair’s confusion. “No. I’m talking about the elves. That was the right thing to do, so stop questioning it.”_

_Alistair raised a single brow. “How do you know all this?”_

_“I’m in your head, so there you go.” Cailan pulled out a pocket watch. “And it's time, goodbye brother. Keep up the good work.”_

Alistair’s eyes opened, his shoulders and body shook by another. “Alistair, you must open your eyes.”

“All right, Cailan. Give me a moment.”

“Shit,” a gruff voice leaned closer to Alistair. “It’s that blasted dust; he went inside the hovel, didn’t he?”

 

l-l-l

When Alistair woke again, he felt surprisingly lighter and unburdened until Zee loomed over him.

“Ah cousin! You are among the living once more.” Zee sat back on his feet. “You had us all worried there for a time. Tell me, do you know who I am? Or better yet, do you know who you are?”

A residual tightness around Alistair’s head caused him to wince. “I know who you are. I know who I am, stop the bloody hovering and help me up.” He struggled to sit up, but a strong arm kept Alistair pinned down and unable to move.

“Regretfully, I cannot allow you to rise, cousin. I have been charged to keep you from injuring yourself until Cullen and Firand are satisfied you are well enough to continue.” He grinned. “I am helping. See?”

Alistair regarded Zee with a renewed annoyance. “Let me up. And stop calling me _cousin_. We are _not_ related.”

A frown took over Zee’s expression. “It seems I am to be reviled this day. I am sorry to report that we,” he pointed back and forth between them, “are most certainly related. Dela is my auntie, and that makes you, my cousin. It is a simple fact, my friend. One cannot choose family.”

“Let me up-please.”

Zee’s expression lightened somewhat, but he still refused. “We are to wait here until the others return. Leliana hurried off to find food and drink for you and should return shortly.” He sighed wistfully. “Lovely Leliana. It has a certain ring to it doesn’t it?”

Not bothering to curb his reaction Alistair scoffed. “Do you ever stop?”

For a moment, Zee furrowed his brow and opened his mouth as though he meant to answer. When he said nothing, a quick scratch of his chin gave way to a gentle tossing of his head from side to side. He appeared to be considering Alistair’s question. With a shrug, he smiled and met Alistair’s eyes. “No, not really.”

Alistair couldn’t help but laugh.

Zee pointed toward him with a knowing grin. “Ah -ha! There it is. You are considering that if this is my true nature, it is easier to play along as it were. I can assure you, I will be quite useful on this journey and swear no harm with come to you or any as long as I am with you.”

It took near to an hour before the others returned, but Alistair had gained some appreciation of Zee’s company. He chatted nonstop but passed the time with rich descriptions of Antiva and his life there. There were times Alistair could smell the open air markets and even hear the tavern music as Zee wove rich tales for him to enjoy.

“Do you grow weary? I have been talking for quite some time and you must be more than a little annoyed by my stories.”

“No. I should thank you for the company.”

Zee stood and stretched. “You are quite welcome, Alistair. If my eyes do not lie, then Leliana approaches and is rather burdened. By your leave?” He bowed with such flourish, Alistair laughed, but Zee hurried to help not before Alistair could admonish him for the formality.

When Zee returned with Leliana, she crouched next to Alistair. “How are you feeling?”

A quick nod and reassurance saw Alistair try to stand again, but this time Leliana held him back. “Not you too,” Alistair said. “I’m fine, we’ve wasted enough time.”

“The others will return shortly, you should rest. The raw lyrium you came into contact with is no longer a threat but we must be cautious.”

Alistair’s attention waned through Leliana’s explanation. The small hovel likely wasn’t free of debris and dust from the mining efforts of the family who lived there. While the miners used cloth coverings that were laundered almost daily, the removal of those articles left a residue. Alistair had to have picked up traces of raw lyrium dust. “Cullen did his best; it took more than a little convincing from us, but he was able to help you enough to cleanse the poison from your blood.”

He nodded absently thinking on the strange vision of his brother. _It wasn’t supposed to be this way_ , _Cailan had everything planned_. Alistair shook the thoughts from his head. Down the darkened corridor the faint flicker of firelight led him to guess Cullen and Firand would meet them soon and then- _on to the Griffin_ , he thought.  

 

l-l-l

“Maker’s _Breath_.”  Cullen quickly apologized for what he called an inappropriate outburst, but all of them stood at the entrance to the private airship dock in the exact same state. Eyes lifted heavenward, mouths fell open without sound at the sight of their new airship.

Firand was the only one who laughed. “Yeah. She’s a kick in the stones at first glance. Can’t wait to see how she feels when we take her out.”  He motioned for the group to follow. “We’ll have to take the cargo lift, but you’ll get a great view as we move along the cargo route.”

They boarded the metal basket near her bow. The proximity of the chains and pulleys would allow the group their first close-up view of the figurehead. Fashioned in the guise of a griffin glaring straight ahead, its narrowed gaze searched the dark.

The slow clunking sound of the chain carried the basket past the massive sculpture. Alistair’s wonder latched onto its glowing blue eye, when suddenly a silver eyelid slid to cover the blue orb nestled within and then disappeared. “It. . .it. . .blinked!”   

“Kid, let me tell you something about Vanda. She’s either mad or a bloody genius. Maybe both. In fact, I say both,” he shrugged. “The Griffin will sail on the water too, but you’ll have to take her wings off.” He gestured toward a double set of curved wings. “Only try that when she’s docked too, unless you like falling.”

 _Never_ , Alistair thought. _This magnificent creature is meant to fly._

The Griffon hovered as though it was swarming prey, spanning the length of a small village. A mixture of metal and wood detailed the intricate hand carved designs etched into the surface. Four tall masts held mighty sails fanned out against the minimal wind in the dock. 

“This is incredible,” Cullen sighed as the cargo basket past the midpoint of the deck. He shifted closer to Alistair.  “Maker’s Breath! It _breathes_!” Cullen pointed like a small child seeing a parade of street performers.

Firand coughed for attention. “It’s a machine, all of it. The Griffin has its own bellows to keep the engine room from overheating. Vanda thought of everything.”

Despite knowing the ship could breathe impossible, Alistair had to see it for himself. Cullen’s raised arm pointed the direction. Right below the dual wing, a series of metal slats expanded and contracted in a slow and even motion. 

Alistair had heard Firand’s explanation but chose to ignore it. The Griffin seemed less like an airship and more lifelike; he’d been gifted a creature straight out of Warden legend.

Stuck deep within his awe, Alistair barely listened to Firand’s detailed information. “She’s got three decks, and enough room for a compliment of eighty crewmen, but she can fly with ten. My men are yours until we get my daughter and take her to safety. The Tower will do nicely for her, too.”

Still enraptured by the Griffin’s sharp lines and fantastical appearance, he nodded without really hearing anything said, but Firand wasn’t finished.

"When we swing around starboard, the lift will take us close enough for a small jump to the cargo hold.” He turned to Zee his face twisting into a scowl. “Whatever your bright idea is, time to spill it.”

“You’re not going to like it, but I assure you it is the only we can enter without alarming the Templars within the Spire and guarantee our escape.” 

There was something almost apologetic in Zee’s tone that broke Alistair free of his preoccupation with the Griffin.  “What are you saying Zee?” Alistair caught the shift of Zee’s attention behind him. It took him a moment to realize Cullen stood there.

“I’m afraid I have no choice but to honor a contract and deliver Cullen to the Templars.” 


	18. Never Trust A Crow Or A Templar in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zee's brilliant idea sends Cullen to the White Spire. Things don't quite go as planned. Disoriented and injured, Cullen doesn't know who to trust.

Alistair stopped listening halfway into Zee’s explanation and walked away. He got lost looking for his room amid the four decks, ending up in the armory below.  Cullen didn’t deserve to be handed over to the Templars. He argued with himself until Alistair sagged against a pile of crates. “They’ll execute him. I can’t allow it.” 

“It’s all right, you know. I’ll go.” Cullen’s voice carried from the doorway. “Zee’s plan is quite inventive, and we’ll take Leliana along. She’s more capable than you realize.” Despite Cullen’s reassurances, he sighed and rather than move into the room, sat on the stairs. “There’s something I should tell you now as it might complicate matters.”

“Really?” Alistair’s raised voice carried a sharp edge and disbelieving tone. “Do you mean more complicated than delivering a known enemy of the White Spire into their fanatical clutches?” He rubbed his face a few times. “I could use a little something lighthearted before I condemn a friend.”

“It’s my choice.”

Anger took over; Alistair wheeled around kicking the closest crate with his foot. “I don’t know what to do-I’m not Cailan.”

“No, you’re not, but I ask that you trust in me. This is not your decision, but I welcome your support.” 

Nodding without speaking, Alistair said little until Cullen stood and turned to leave. “I’ll expect a full report, which means you’d better come back.” A quick glance revealed the smallest hint of a smile.

 

l-l-l

 

Cullen didn’t expect Alistair to appear on deck before they disembarked south of Val Royeaux.  Firand suggested the secondary location; the Griffin wasn’t known but mooring her in the Chantry capital of Val Royeaux would invite far too many questions. 

The argument between Leliana and Firand conducted itself in low tones and veiled threats, but when Alistair arrived, Cullen breathed easier hoping for a cooler head to help. Aware of Alistair’s approach, Firand turned his displeasure toward him.

“You!” The sudden increase in Firand’s volume startled them all. He gestured behind him toward Leliana. Her change in attire to a cleric’s robe registered on Alistair’s face as confusion. “Did you know?”

“It hardly matters, Ser.” Cullen spoke up for the first time since the argument began.

Cullen had known dwarves at the Tower, most studied theory and mechanics, but none as direct and demanding as Firand.

“Don’t _Ser_ me, as if that will make me forget _who_ she is.”

It was how Alistair crossed his arms and kept his eyes on Firand that moved Cullen to explain. “Alistair, I tried to tell you before-in the armory- Leliana is-”

Before he could finish Leliana moved between Alistair and Firand speaking over the discussion. “-no one to trifle with.  End of discussion.”

Cullen disagreed. Alistair had put his trust in them and deserved the truth.  “Alistair deserves the truth, even if we succeed, it would be wrong to omit it-not now.”

Leliana sighed, and Cullen had to wonder if he’d said too much. It wasn’t his story to tell.

“Fine,” she said before giving Alistair a smile. “Alistair, Val Royeaux is my home-my family home.”

Firand moved behind Alistair. “She’s one of _them_ , kid.”

 “It’s hardly that ominous,” Leliana said. “I’ve earned a bit of a reputation; my mother is of some importance to the Sunburst Throne. That’s all.”

“That’s all, she says,” Firand threw up his arms and paced. “Get to the punchline; I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Ignoring Firand, Leliana stepped closer to Alistair. “Have you ever heard of the Nightingale? Most of the truth has degenerated into stories and fabrications.” She inhaled. “It’s a title passed down for women who serve at the discretion of the Divine.”

"I thought it was mostly just stories told to scare children into behaving.” Alistair stopped; his brow creased and eyes unfocused. In the motion, Cullen wondered if Alistair had figured it out. “The Divine’s guardians are much older, I actually was introduced to the Left and Right hands of the Divine with Duncan-it was two years ago.”

Leliana smiled before answering. “That’s right, I remember you.”

“Pfft! Here it comes.”  Firand’s interruption soured Leliana’s expression.

“My mother is the Left Hand. Sister Beatrix. When I turned eighteen, I assumed the mantle of-“

Alistair answered for her, “the Nightingale. You’re the Nightingale? But how?”

“Now is not the time, but you must trust me. No one will harm Cullen.”

Standing apart from the conversation, Alistair’s calm struck Cullen. When he’d discovered Leliana’s identity, it had frightened him. He’d been certain she was there to end his life.  Leliana for her part had been reassuring and gentle; she promised her mission to protect him came direct from the Sunburst Throne. 

Cullen had known within minutes of Leliana’s arrival at the Tower. She wasn’t there to study him, she’d been sent to find him.

 

_“You can trust me, Cullen.” Leliana held out her hand. “I would see you safe.”_

_He stared at her outstretched hand. “Why?”_

_“Why?” She laughed shaking her head. “You’re a Templar. A non-violent, lyrium-free Templar who somehow has the skills of a mage.” Leliana crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “I was led to believe you were exceptional in intelligence and discipline. Can you see no reason the Chantry has such an interest in your survival?”_

_“No. I committed the acts I am accused of-there is no lie in those charges.”_

_Her exasperated sigh caught him off guard, but it was her quick move that caused him to stumble backward. Another light laugh further confused him. A hired killer who giggled? He’d not believed it possible._

_“If I’m to protect you, we must work to make you a bit more companionable. Otherwise this will be tedious.”_

_  
_As the memory faded, Cullen’s awareness sharpened in time to hear Alistair speak with Leliana.

“I’m counting on you.”

Leliana tossed a wink in Cullen’s direction. “You won’t even find the smallest scratch on him.”

Even though Leliana projected an unwavering confidence, Cullen knew better; they’d spoken at length of the expectations and responsibilities levied on her. No matter his concern, Leliana had Cullen’s complete trust. A fierce fighter, she had never backed down from a challenge.

Zee, however, Cullen couldn’t decipher. Why a Crow would intentionally foul his contracts and build a reputation for failure made little sense. Other than his incessant chatter and innuendo, he’d given no reason for any of them to trust his motives. Allowing him to carry this mission renewed Cullen’s concerns.

“Then it is agreed? Leliana will join my party and see to the Templar’s safety, while I search for Firand’s daughter.”  Zee pulled his cuffs from his coat sleeves and straightened his waistcoat.

“I’d sooner piss on a nug that let you near my Cordyn!” Anger flared anew from Firand; his face reddened, and he huffed through his nose.  His breathing grew louder, rasping through an ever increasing growl. He advanced on Zee with clenched fists, pushing Zee closer to the railing.

“Now there is no need for such theatrics,” Zee said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “This is the best way to carry out my plan.”

“I don’t trust you. There’s nothing you can say to make me trust you. You and your whole bloody line.” Firand’s face had reddened so much, he looked ready to explode, but he lowered his voice stepping even closer to Zee. “Every last one of you.”

For the first time since Zee joined them, his demeanor changed. Gone was the jovial nature and smiling eyes, replaced with a darkening expression. “Careful. You tread on dangerous ground. I will not sit idle while you disrespect my family.”

Cullen felt a shift around him, as the conversation dissolved in several movements, Firand rolled up his sleeves, prompting Zee to stretch his neck, rolling his shoulders. Firand advanced. “Something tells me you’re itching for a good old-fashioned ass kicking.”

“One must be able to reach my ass to _kick it_.” Zee thumbed his nose at Firand adding to his insult; the slight not lost on Cullen. They didn’t have time for posturing, not when Cordyn Ortan sat captive within the Spire.

“What should we do?” Cullen’s question to Leliana meant to find an amicable solution to the problem, but the insults continued, adding to Cullen’s concern.

Leliana sighed and rolled her eyes, lifting the sleeve of her robe. Cullen’s eyes widened at the site of the tiny crossbow strapped to her wrist.  “Wait, Leliana!”

Neither of the combatants heard Cullen’s warning, but they gasped as the first bolt pinned Zee’s arm to the railing and the second fell inches from Firand’s boot. “I think that’s quite enough of that.”

Muttered apologies and downcast eyes offered enough proof whatever had flared between Firand and Zee had ended-for now.  Cullen stared at Leliana unsure what to make of the situation. “Would you have injured them?”

“It _was_ tempting,” she said with a slight wink. “Sadly, we need them both. Perhaps after our business is concluded, I’ll consider it again.”  

Alistair’s shoulders caved. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea and we should rethink our position.

Having extricated the bolt from the wooden rail and his clothing, Zee joined the three. “That was most invigorating, and should you wish to practice your aim once more I would be willing to submit to such games with great relish.”

Both Alistair and Cullen coughed to cover their laughter, but Cullen had to hand it to Zee, he took everything in stride.  Leliana’s displeasure quieted them both and Cullen apologized.

She held up a hand in concession and turned her attention to Zee. Deliberate words fell in a quiet yet punctuated fashion, leaving little doubt to Leliana’s mood. “I don’t care if you’re a Crow, do not get in my way on this mission; if you foul anything- and I mean anything-I will end you.”

“My dear Leliana, you have such skills and fire. Agree to fight by my side and I will be yours.”

Another subtle roll of her eyes answered him before she spoke. “Perhaps you misunderstood my message. I missed to prove a point. I won’t do so again.”

“Not that I do not appreciate the simple fact you intentionally missed, but where I come from such actions could mean we are in fact betrothed and I will say right now—I accept.”

Searching for a way to distract Leliana, Cullen pointed to her wrist. “That is new and certainly not Chantry issue.”

Leliana quickly  hid her hand behind her back. “It was from Dela. I couldn’t say no,” she said. “It’s perfectly functional, and I’d even wear it out in the open.”

“Ah. I see.”  A single raised brow said more than any response could.

“The Templars won’t search me, they wouldn’t dare-so it makes perfect sense.” She lifted the robe’s hem to reveal battle gear and trousers. “I’ve also stashed a few blades and even small quarters bombs in case we need a diversion.”

Firand whistled long and low. “All right, I take back everything I said. You find my daughter, and if those monsters get in your way, take them out. I’ll give you anything you need in return: gold, land, you name it and it’s yours.”

“Your offer is appreciated but wholly unnecessary. Now is not the time to take on the whole of the Spire.  We will find your daughter, but you and Alistair must be prepared. If Cullen sends the signal, you must bring the ship to us.”

Alistair chimed in, throwing an apologetic glance toward Cullen. “Now, it’s not that I don’t trust in Cullen’s abilities; I’ve seen them, but what if-and while I know this is a huge improbability what if he can’t send the signal?”

When neither Cullen nor Leliana responded, Zee answered, “should that unlikely event present itself, look for the flames.”

“Zee, you don’t want to start that fight,” Cullen hoped his caution carried through.

Once more, Zee’s face brightened, and a smile reached his eyes.  The intensity of his stare met with each person gathered, Cullen realized there was far more behind Zee’s outward silliness and kept silent, waiting to hear what Zee would say.

“Only a fool would dare challenge the Crows. We are everyone and yet we are no one at all. I have little love for the Templars of the Spire and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to bring their tyranny to an end. The Chantry turned a blind eye to their ways, and it is more than time to open them,” his jaw tightened. Almost as quickly as he’d begin Zee relaxed and feigned laughter. “The things we could do,” he sighed, tossing a wink to Leliana. “It intrigues you, doesn’t it?”

There was something to Leliana’s blank stare. She blinked several times and Culled wondered if she might consider Zee’s offer. He knew full well Leliana’s thoughts on the Templars of the Spire, but she’d explained the Divine insisted on peaceful methods. This was not the time to destroy the White Spire and the menace of the Templars within; while many wished to see the Spire burnt to ashes, no one wanted to risk another civil war.

“Perhaps another time, Zee,” she said, composing herself. “Now we must find Cordyn and bring her–and Cullen-back out of the most guarded tower in Thedas.”

 

l-l-l

 

The Knight Captain had ordered Cullen under constant guard before he was hit from behind; Cullen couldn’t recall how much time had passed, all he knew had darkened not long after someone landed the first strike across his face. Moments of awareness sharpened revealing little; he’d felt the chill in the air, heard fragments of hollow sounds and then nothing-a cold and empty feeling took hold before he drifted into stillness again.

Waking slowly, the sting on his face and body had thankfully numbed leaving a dull ache. With effort, Cullen’s eyes opened. He rested on his back on a hard cot, and the bars in front of him left little doubt of his predicament. The cell lay in near darkness; an occasional flicker of torchlight from the corridor enough to reveal the stark walls and hay scattered floor. “No doubt in case they wish to bleed me more,” he muttered. 

A sharp pain at the base of his neck forced his reach and Cullen realized his hands were not bound, nor chained.  The effort to rise and stand proved difficult; he wobbled blinking his eyes to stop the sudden spinning in his vision.

A soft voice cautioned him to sit. “Do not try to stand. Rest. There will be no violence against you.”

He resisted the urge to scoff or fire back a response. _Even a soft voice can wield a harsh hand_ , he cautioned himself. “You’ll forgive me if I reserve judgement on your statement, my face and head beg to differ. I remain seated out of necessity; the room still spins.”

Even with his eyes closed, Cullen felt his guard’s eyes on him, but her tentative words still rang with authority. “Would water. . .never mind.”

“If you are offering water to drink then yes, I would appreciate the kindness, but if you seek to enter the cell and continue what your fellows began, then keep your offer far from me.” The curtness to his voice surprised Cullen; he’d never been so intentionally disrespectful. Sighing, he apologized. “Forgive me; you’ve said a handful of words.”

“I’m not. . .I’m not like them. I don’t see how violence aids in gathering the truth.”

He scoffed. _The truth. The truth is as Leliana assured me; the Templars fear irrelevancy._ Cullen remained silent.

“Are you thirsty or not,” she said with a rising annoyance to her voice, “it makes little difference to me, but a touch of civility might convince you I am not your tormentor.”

Thirst answered for him, need overshadowing his reluctance. His guard’s promise to return fueled his determination to conquer the dizziness.  Her steps retreated down the corridor until Cullen could hear nothing more. Only then did he rise in slow movements, allowing his head to acclimate to the changing positions.  Once able to sit, Cullen sought to learn what he could about his surroundings.

The Spire had been razed and rebuilt several times over the same site out of pure stubbornness. Marshlands beneath eventually reclaimed the site. The integrity of the land had changed ages past, but no remedy had seemed to hold back the inevitable. The musty smell permeating the rock had to be a sign of erosion or the start of it. His attention shifted to the bars of the cell, they appeared sturdy, but Cullen shuffled toward the cell gate and pulled.

He tested each bar in succession, pushing and pulling the metal. Leaning his back against the cold metal, Cullen held no illusions; he’d need intervention from Leliana or Zee to escape.  

“Trying to make me look bad?”

His guard’s near teasing tone caused him to wince. “I had to try; no doubt I am a prisoner then.” He turned to face her, and stumbled on his feet, unprepared for vision in front of him. A Templar in full uniform, she wore the blue and gold stripe of the Lieutenant on her arm. He’d not seen the uniforms of the spire up close, only a glimpse of them now and then when members of their order would visit the Tower.

Navy blue and cut in generous military style, the rich color against the stark white shirt beneath it drew his attention to her face. She wasn’t fair like most Fereldans; in fact, her deep brown eyes and black hair reminded him of several women he’d met in the tower. They’d hailed from points north Rivain, Tevinter and Nevarra. He looked away feeling the embarrassment at his obvious stare and hoping the lack of light in the cell hid warmth in his face.

“Are you, all right? I brought water and something to eat. You were asleep for nearly six hours, I assumed you might be hungry.”

There was something genuine in her words, but he couldn’t understand why his guard would be so eager to help. He didn’t dare meet her eyes again-afraid he’d offended. “Yes, thank you.”

When she cleared her throat several times he finally looked up. “I won’t bite, but you must move back to your cot. It’s not that I fear you’ll try to escape, but I can’t trust you either. Apparently, you’re a dangerous man.”

He wanted to reassure her; he wanted to guarantee her safety, but his tongue and his head had somehow disconnected leaving him unable to speak more than a few words at a time. “I won’t.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to hurt you.”

He was sure the hint of a smile crossed her face and the smile that bloomed on his did so without permission.  Cullen shook his head and closed his eyes chastising himself for his behavior. _Stop this foolishness._ _Have you forgotten where you are? She could have been one of those who struck you and you’re staring all wide eyed and flustered like a young boy. Think of the mission, you fool!_

She lifted her head nodding toward the bed. “Please sit?”

Cullen complied; his sensibility arguing silently in his head to forget the woman and run. “No,” he muttered.

“No?”

Apologizing, Cullen tried to reassure his guard. “I was talking to myself. . .my head. . .it. . .sorry.” He sat, burying his head in his hands. _Enough. You need to stop._ He’d never reacted so inappropriately and the marked lack of calm unsettled him more. _What is the matter with you? Get it together._

Through his self-debasement, Cullen heard keys turn until the dull clunk of a metal latch and long squeal of rusted metal hinges revealed the means of his escape waited for him. And then it happened. Cullen ignored the open door and watched his guard enter. Her eyes held him locked in readiness; if he dared move against her-she was ready. With only an inch or two separating them in height, he’d have to use magic to best her; hoping she was not among those using lyrium-he might have a chance. He did not move, he did not speak and instead lifted his arms to hold his hands free. He wanted her to trust him, but more than anything he wanted to talk with her.

The tray sat on a chair, and once the cell door locked the tension between them relaxed. “Thank you,” she paused a light smile crossing her face. “I’m glad you didn’t try to escape. Would it be too odd to ask your name?”

He managed a weak whisper. “It’s Cullen. Cullen Rutherford.”

Her face fell and where amusement had sat, he was sure something else had taken root. Her eyes widened and mouth dropped by the slightest bit. “The mage? You’re . . .you’re real? The stories were true?”  She stepped away shaking her head, seemingly talking with herself in a private argument. She glanced toward him several times her brow furrowed.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What stories?”

She checked her surroundings and hurried to the bars, her voice hushed. “My name is Max Trevelyan. If you are Cullen Rutherford, then something has gone wrong.”

“I don’t understand.” He repeated her words confused. “I’m a prisoner here, and I’d say something has gone bloody well wrong.” Cullen backed away. “I don’t know who you are other than my jailer, but I _am_ Cullen Rutherford.”

She shook her head. “Prove it.”   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. The Two Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Held captive in the Spire, Cullen's jailer is clearly more than she seems. He'll have to trust her motives if he hopes to survive. When part of the plan sours, Alistair is left on board the Griffin with little information and rising concerns.

_“Prove it.”_

With two small words, his earlier fascination with Max deteriorated into disbelief; Cullen acted without thinking. Faster than he thought possible, he summoned the fireball and hurled it through the bars. Max was not his target nor had he come close to hitting her, but the gasp and scrambling steps away from him revealed he’d proven his skill.

Self-loathing turned him toward the far wall. “This is not who you are,” he whispered, hoping the affirmation would diminish the bitterness rising in his chest.  Instead of easing his concerns, guilt took root. “I would not have harmed you. I. . .forgive me.”

He shifted to face her, prepared for anger and revulsion. What he saw made little sense. Max gripped the bars, her breathing quick and eyes wide. “Show me that again. Only, this time pretend I’m not your enemy.”

“Aren’t you?”

Max stepped back and crossed her arms. “You really don’t know who I am?”

The expectancy in her voice suggested to Cullen of some planned event, but when he shook his head, the confidence she carried diminished in a near slump of her shoulders. Her expression hardened at the sound of a group descending the stairs at the far end. She pointed toward the cot, quieting her voice. Despite her whisper, it still managed to carry the force of a command. “Say nothing. Lie on your side facing the wall and do not react no matter what you hear.”

Cullen’s blank expression belied his confusion. It sounded as though she wanted him to feign sleep. Sure he’d misheard, Cullen challenged her with a single word.  “What?”  

Jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed, and she hissed a final order. “Do it!” Her demeanor changed from what Cullen had witnessed as Max stood with her hands behind her back and feet apart.

 _She’s expecting a superior_ , Cullen guessed by her stance. If that were true, he stood to endure more abuse as before. Unwilling to test his theory, Cullen moved the food tray beneath the cot and did as Max requested. He took slow breaths in through his nose to relax, hoping he could fool the new arrivals into thinking he still slept.

“Trevelyan!” The harshness of a man’s voice echoed through the corridor.

“Knight Captain, Ser!”

Cullen didn’t have to strain to hear the conversation. The Knight Captain barked out every word. She was to wake him and then move from the cells to a locked room above them. “The Chantry has seen fit to send an emissary of the Left Hand to take the prisoner.”

“Then the prisoner will be released, Ser?” Max’s question seemed genuine enough, but when the Knight Captain laughed in response, Cullen’s concern grew. He held his breath to stave off his reaction, waiting until the Knight Captain spoke again.

“Not a chance. We don’t have him. I see only an empty cell, don’t you agree?”

Max hesitated, her response slow at first it strengthened with each word. “Yes, Ser. An empty cell.”

“That’s a good girl. I knew you’d come around.”

Cullen felt a twinge of disgust at the condescension. If he read into the words, Max wasn’t trusted-not entirely. _Does that mean she is against me? Will she aid in their plans?_ Cullen understood duty and obligation. Even in the Tower he had to meet the expectations of his superiors and despite their preference for a non-violent approach, Cullen could be called upon to the defend the Tower. He couldn’t fault Max, following orders was a part of being a Templar regardless of the faction.

“Yes. Ser.” The flatness to her tone revealed a hint of annoyance and Cullen hoped the Knight Captain hadn’t heard it.

“We can’t have the Chantry messing about in the private business of the Order. The prisoner will answer for his crime against our respected brother. You agree-don’t you, Trevelyan?”

“Of course, Ser.”

His heart sunk in his chest. Cullen hoped Zee could find Cordyn and return to the Griffin, but he had no illusions as to his fate. If the Templars hid him, Leliana could not facilitate the escape as planned, meaning she would have no choice but to leave without him.

Faced with the possibility of his death, Cullen considered his options. He could fight, but having never tested his magic against Templars, Cullen couldn’t be sure of success. If Max used lyrium, she’d be able to weaken him immediately and it would hinder his ability to defend himself. Even if he could match her physically, his weakened state would not pair well against the more experienced.

He heard the Knight Captain issue the orders for her to move him as soon as possible. The thought of having to confront her one on one soured his stomach. _She seems kind_ , he thought, _she’s lovely too, but that has little bearing on her skills._

“The Chantry’s representative waits for me; make it quick. _If_ you succeed Trevelyan, perhaps then we _might_ discuss an end to your restrictions and punishment.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Max responded.

 _Restrictions and punishments?_ The Knight Captain’s willingness to forget her transgression didn’t fit what Cullen had heard of the Spire. The use of physical coercion and near torturous punishments were considered excessive by most. Max showed no signs of a broken will. _Perhaps she is of some importance or her family influential enough to warrant leniency._

Of greater concern, the mission stood on the edge of failure. Leliana’s plan had failed thanks to the Templars _. I should not worry for Leliana’s safety, but there is something strange about all this._ He exhaled slowly, reciting a silent prayer for Leliana as the Knight Captain’s clumping gait carried him away.

A soft sigh dissipated into a cough and Max kept her voice quiet. “For the record? Not all prisons have bars.” When she turned to face him, something in her downcast eyes tugged at his earlier dismissal of her predicament.

The keys in her hand jangled and clinked against the bars.  Even her posture seemed conciliatory, shoulders slumped she would not meet his eyes as she spoke. “Listen carefully,” she whispered, “they will watch us at every step. You must trust me if you’re to live.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Trust you?” He recognized his loud words could be heard and quieted his voice matching her whispered tone.  “Trust you? You’re taking me to a hidden location where I’m to wait and you have the nerve to insist I trust in you?”

She grabbed a rope from a hook outside his cell. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Give me your hands.” Cullen did not move prompting her to step closer and repeat the request. “Please give me your hands. If we take too long, the Knight Captain will return, and he will not be kind.”

With no other option before him, Cullen held out his hands and waited. The knot seemed familiar as she looped only one end around his wrist. She threaded and looped the line in such a way it wouldn’t hold if tugged in the right way. Cullen realized why the steps seemed so familiar; he recalled the repeated lessons from Alistair on board the Hero. “That’s a mooring hitch,” Cullen said, “it won’t secure anything-it’s a quick-release knot for an airship line.”

“I’m impressed,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I told you to trust me. Since you’re familiar with this particular hitch knot I’m guessing I don’t need to ask if you know how release it, do I?”

He shook his head. “Where did you learn this? Why use it now?”

“Not now.” She led him out of the cell by his arm, her grip tight and forceful. The corridor proved empty and with a final check up the stairwell she whispered to him. “I’m afraid this will not be pleasant. If anyone suspects or tries to get close, I want you to push me, but be warned I will strike you in return.”

“I don’t-”

Something in Max changed, and she shoved him. Caught off guard, his back slammed into the wall. “If you don’t do as I say, we’ll both end up dead.” He wasn’t prepared for her strength and will holding him against the cold stone. His face must have revealed his shock, prompting Max to release him. She clamped her eyes shut and exhaled. “Look. I thought you were here to spring me, but it looks like that bastard turned you in instead. I will get us both out of here and then we’ll go after him together, but to do that I need you in one piece. So please, do as I have asked.”

 _Together? Would she travel with him?_ Cullen nearly stammered his question. “Who did this?”

“I’ve save the explanation for another time.” Her guiding hand proved gentler directing him toward the stairs. “Before I forget,” she paused, unbuttoning her waistcoat to remove it. Cullen’s eyes widened at the weapon holsters and knife belt around her waist. Unfazed by his stare, she pointed at him. “Do those trousers have deep pockets?”

His brow furrowed taken aback by the strange question. “I think so.”

“Good.” She reached behind her pulling out a firearm no bigger than her palm. “Do you know how to use this? It’s a mini-revolver. Six shots. The safety catch is here, to the left of the trigger.” She showed him how to shift the lever up and down before dropping the gun into his pant’s pocket. “Try to remember it’s there.”

He stared at her incredulous. “Who are you?”

She flashed a smile, but did not answer his question.  “Remember, I’ve only just woken you. Do not make eye contact, do not react. These Templars are nothing like your branch of the Order. They will harm you, regardless. Prepare yourself; I will push you out of the door. Make it look convincing.

“Nice going, Millie! Don’t break him yet!”

Gritting his teeth Cullen kept his head down, waiting for her to grab him again. _They called Max by another name. What is the truth? Who is she?_ Cullen suspected little that came from Max’s mouth would prove true _.   Why offer to lead me to safety? If I were a betting man, I’d have guessed she might use me as leverage for her release._

He felt her grip on his shoulder. Cullen locked his knees, a silent dare. Rather than strike him, her fingers dug deeper into his shoulder all the while she laughed and joked with the others in the room.

She’s not revealing a thing to the others. Glancing sideways, he felt a kick to the side of his boot and then another. Realizing that Max was trying to urge him on without violence, Cullen complied.

Max led him through several corridors and doors without uttering a word. When she reached a large grey door at the far end of a corridor, she unlocked it and shoved Cullen inside, locking the door behind her. She wheeled around and hissed a question. “Have you gone mad?”

Cullen blinked several times; a failed attempt to process her question, he kept his retort in a whispered tone. “Have I gone mad? Who are you? No more lies, Max. Or is it Millie? Are you even a Templar?”

“Depends on who you ask, technically I am.” She helped him to a chair and sighed. “Maximilliane, that’s my name. I’ve used Max since I arrived, but some Templars call me Millie.” Cullen’s hardened expression remained, his eyes locked to hers challenging the truth from her until she looked away. “Fine, you win. I’ve been called Lia by my family and friends since I could talk.”

“There. Finally.” Cullen believed they might converse without hiding behind half-truths, posturing and pleasantries He thanked her. “It’s nice to meet you _Lia_.” His emphasis on what he believed to be her real name brightened her expression. “Now that I’ve met the real you, care to share the rest?”

“I was only supposed to be here for a few months. Learn the layout, get the keys and then,” she paused nodding toward him, “someone would come for me. It’s been eighteen months. I assumed you were my ticket out of this nightmare.”

Thinking on her explanation, Cullen repeated her words. “Learn the layout and get the keys? You’re a thief?”

Surprise and denial met in a mix of movement; her eyes widened while her hands sliced through the air. “No!” She quieted her voice. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“I should say so.” Cullen had recognized when the deception had ended, but he remained concerned. _Elaborate ruse or toying with me, either way I could end up dead, but what to do?_

She pushed back with equal determination. “I can either recount my life from birth until you woke in my charge or we can take advantage of the fact I chose a room far from where the Knight Captain is expecting us. No one knows where we are, so what will it be? If you’re content to stay here and rot while the Templars decide the first of many trials and punishments to test on you-so be it.” She huffed. “Look, I’m not waiting around to get caught. You can stay here. Pity, you were actually the most interesting man I’ve met in a very long time.”

Cullen gripped his neck with both hands. The fact he could do so thanks to her a contradiction he could not ignore. Had Max been a conspirator she would not have given him the means to escape. The internal conflict of Max’s allegiances expressed the only way Cullen knew how.  “I. . .don’t know if I should trust you.”

She hurried to the entry door, pressing her ear against it. “I see. Then this is good bye, Cullen Rutherford. Maker watch over you, for no one else surely rates in your eyes.” She crossed the room and pushed aside a large hanging tapestry, pressing her hand against the wood. Cullen’s disbelief in Lia diminished as a panel swung open revealing a darkened space and a possible escape route.

He had to decide.  Whoever it was before him had gotten him this far. _What if she really is helping me?_   He needed something more to prove her alliance with him wasn’t a game. _Cordyn, we need to bring her out with us. If this Max or Lia or whatever her name is will aid me in that rescue, then I will believe._ “Wait!” He joined her. “There’s an airship waiting for my signal, but we need to retrieve a Cordyn Ortan, she’s held prisoner here.”

“Ortan, Ortan,” Lia repeated the name. “I remember now, the noble from Orzammar. She’s one floor above us. I can get to her, but we must hurry.”  She led him through the tight space, whispering as they walked. “I found these passages quite by chance. Someone put them in when the Spire was renovated in the Tranquil Age. It was meant for attendants and service help but were closed off when the Templars decided it was best not to have witnesses.”

Cullen stumbled halting their advance. She turned and offered her hand, staring at the rope still binding him. "Why didn't you remove the rope? If I'd worried you might try something, would I have tied such an easy knot to shrug free?"

He couldn't answer her. _She's been an ally and I've challenged her every step._ He tugged on the short end of the rope releasing his hands. "I should apologize for doubting you."

Her light laugh was genuine, but she continued through the passageway. "You can buy me a drink when we're free and tell me all about how much you owe me then." 

l-l-l

On board the Griffin, Alistair paced chewing on his thumbnail. “Why is this taking so long? It’s been ten hours.” He would have to trust that Cullen would be all right on his own. Leliana had returned two hours prior with bad news; they had blocked her from seeing Cullen and the Knight Captain had lied to her insisting Cullen wasn’t in their custody. Running his fingers through his hair, Alistair growled low in frustration. 

“Take it easy kid, you’re too young to get all worked up,” Firand said.  “Let me put it this way. If the pirate fails, I’m collecting on that ass kicking.”

Across the deck, Leliana waved her arms jumping up and down.  Her exaggerated movement pointed toward the west. Shifting his attention westward, Alistair caught a burst of flame exploding from the Spire’s upper portion.  “Yes!” Alistair shouted punching his fist through the air. He tried to recover, checking to see if anyone saw his reaction.  He hoped the others on deck were too excited to notice him.

“It’s them!” Leliana shouted again, sending Alistair racing toward the engine room hatch. He lifted the trapdoor revealing four eager engineers, waiting on his word.

“Give me everything you’ve got, we’re halfway to success!”  Alistair heard the cheers and promises before the hatch closed, still wondering how they’d managed. _Maybe I can lead without it all falling apart?_   Zee’s absence still troubled him, but Alistair had to hope all had gone according to plan.  He was still thinking on Zee when Leliana reached him.  Hoping Leliana might set his concerns to rest, he posed a question.  “Where is Zee?”

Her shrug echoed Alistair’s confusion. Zee was supposed to free Cordyn and return to the ship while his inside man escaped with Cullen. “For his sake,” she said nodding in Firand’s direction, “he’d better have you know who and be waiting.”

She was right, of course. If they’d failed to retrieve Firand’s daughter they’d have no choice but to attack in greater numbers. “We could always reach out to Isabella? Maybe she could help?”

“No, if we fail, I will go to my mother.” Her expression hardened. “The Order lying to me is one thing but taking on the Most Holy and her emissaries will not end well for the Spire.” Leliana had complained at the unconvincing lies of the Templars when she arrived to collect Cullen.

“You’re not,” he paused, nervous laughter falling out as he spoke, “you’re not serious though, right? I’m sure everything went as planned.”

Leliana’s wide-eyed stare, while not an outright challenge, suggested she lacked a certain confidence in the mission.

 _Well that’s not reassuring at all_ , Alistair thought, but it would do little good to worry until they reached the others waiting for the Griffin. He backed away mumbling about checking on the engine room. _We need to get out of this without setting the Spire after the Griffin and us._ Alistair felt certain returning to Lisette and fully recovered Sprocket would allow him to resume the search for Maric _. I can’t break free of obligations to Ferelden until I find Maric and return him to Denerim._

He shifted uncomfortably, unsure if its source stemmed from Leliana’s new found zeal against the Spire or from his new gear. The shoulder holster he’d found in the armory had never been worn and whatever hide it had been fabricated from had little pliability. The weight of the firearm resting within in didn’t help. _Doesn’t matter, I must be prepared whatever happens next._ He rolled his shoulder before stretching his neck to his right and left. _At some point I will face Loghain, might as well get used to this thing now._

The shift in his perspective didn’t solve Alistair’s worries. He knew it. Duncan used to caution him to remain focused on the problem, but it always proved far easier to ignore it until he had no choice. The Griffin slowed as it approached the Spire, and from his vantage point along the starboard rail the appearance of Cullen and two others allowed Alistair a moment’s rest.

Once within range however, Alistair realized Zee was not the third person. Dressed in the dark military blue of the Spire, a Templar stood with her back to Cullen’s, long dark hair whipping about in the winds assaulting the three. The area they stood on might have served as an airship dock as it jutted out from the tower’s main structure. The Templar stood at the halfway point, cutting off access to Cullen and the other.

Behind him, Leliana warned against the Templar’s presence. She lifted her sleeve taking aim, but Alistair stopped her actions.

“Look carefully!” He pointed toward the three. “Whoever it is stands guard!” Firand shouted his daughter’s name and urged the deckhands to hurry. Alistair didn’t know where to look. The Griffin was immense in size and not quite the picture of stealth. A hulking airship, fireblasts atop the Spire? Surely someone had taken notice and sounded the alarm. The ridiculous nature of their rescue attempt sought to weigh Alistair down even more, but he couldn’t think on impossibilities and obstacles – they were so close to success.

A makeshift plank allowed Cullen to guide Cordyn Ortan to the Griffin’s deck, but Cullen turned back calling to the Templar.

“He’s mad!” Firand shouted, urging Alistair to retreat.

The emergence of a hooded figure sprinting toward the Templar raised a collective gasp aboard the Griffin until the hood fell away revealing their missing comrade-Zee. He dodged the Templar’s swipe of a sword and continued toward the airship.

Following close behind, the Templar chased after Zee, and tackled him to the deck, Cullen hurried toward them a few steps behind with his hands raised, urging no one to interfere.

Only then did Alistair realize the one who had protected Cullen and Cordyn, the Templar was a woman. She held Zee by his cloak shaking him. “You bastard! This is all your fault!” Her right hand balled into a fist, she reared back and before Alistair could stop her, the Templar’s fist connected with Zee’s throat.

 

 


	20. Of Blood and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safely aboard the Griffin, Alistair must decide what will happen to Lia and Zee. When the Griffin reaches the Tower at Kinloch Hold, Loghain's reach separates one of their number.

Alistair faced a dilemma. The Templar had saved Cullen and Firand’s daughter, but her hatred of Zee proved so great, he had to post guards to keep her away from him. Cullen appealed to Alistair’s sense of fairness citing Lia’s help as the sole reason for their escape.

The journey to the Tower would take an hour or two at most, providing the Griffin avoided any conflicts. This left Alistair with little time to solve the problem. He rubbed his eyes as if by doing so the proper course of action might appear before him. “I don’t know what to think.”

Lia paced in his cabin, her eyes unfocused. Alistair recognized the indecision he’d felt on many occasions, but Duncan had always talked him through.  

Cullen’s quiet presence in Alistair’s cabin kept Lia calm. The curious bond the two seemed to share after just a few hours intrigued Alistair, but he didn’t want to antagonize either of them until they reached a solution.

“Zee disappeared after he offered me up to the Knight Captain collecting the bounty,” Cullen said, “I couldn’t say where he went after that. When I woke from my _welcome_ , Lia stood guard over me.”

Something in the way Cullen’s voice changed made Alistair cringe, and he apologized. “I am sorry. The plan should have worked, but,” Alistair paused; the thought of what Cullen endured troubled him. “I should not have agreed to this.”

Stepping away from the small rectangular window, Cullen frowned moving closer. “Zee did this, not you. He disappeared and left me to the Templars.”

“But you can’t be sure of what happened.” It wasn’t a challenge to Cullen’s account, but Alistair hoped to understand as much as possible before deciding Zee’s fate.

Lia scoffed. “Don’t you get it? Zee played you, just like Cullen, me and countless others.” She shook her head. “You can’t trust the Crows. Zee was after something and the sooner we find out what it was, the safer we’ll all be.”

Not knowing what to believe, Alistair questioned Lia further. “Why were you sent there? Cullen mentioned you planned something at the Spire. Maybe there’s an answer there.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “I could use your help.” He offered Lia what he hoped was a reassuring smile and waited for her reply.

She seemed to struggle with her answer; opening her mouth and closing it again, Lia unable to speak. Cullen stepped closer.

“You can trust Alistair,” Cullen said, nodding in his direction.

For a moment the two held each other’s eyes, and Alistair looked away, not wanting to intrude. His thoughts drifted to Lisette and if she had thought of him at all. A muttered apology from Cullen broke Alistair free of his thoughts, returning his attention to Lia.

 “Alistair, the truth is I’m not innocent. I joined the Order with a plan to get close to them and learn their secrets. I was searching for answers.”

Lia’s cautious way of speaking reminded Alistair of Duncan; he never quite revealed all the facts right away, it took prodding and proper questions. Alistair feared it might be the same with Lia.

 Alistair stood. “Lia, I have Zee under guard in the cargo hold. We’re on our way to the Tower at Kinloch Hold.  If Zee is to be handed over to Cullen’s order, I must give them a valid reason.” He scratched the back of his head, giving her a crooked grin. “There’s a complication. You see Zee and me-we’re,” he paused, “well, we’re sort of related. So, you’ll forgive me if I’m pushing for more information.” He shrugged. “Somehow I must explain this to my mother.”

“Wait,” she said, facing him, “that means the rumors are true.” Lia’s side glance intrigued Alistair, but her furrowed brow and wagging finger raised a smile from him.

“Figured it out, have you?” Alistair shrugged. “I’m still getting used to it myself. Not the related to Zee thing, of course. That’s a bit of an,” he paused looking for the right word, “unexpected turn, but Lady Ghilain is my mother.”

“Huh,” she said looking him over. “You don’t look like an elf, but then again you don’t act like a Theirin either.”

Alistair caught Cullen’s wide eyes and clamped lips, resisting a laugh, he countered.  “And _you_ are _nothing_ like the nobles I’ve met.”

She grinned. “You’ve got me there, Alistair. Well played.” Lia glanced back at Cullen. “The reason I was at the Spire, the reason Zee had recruited my help all comes down to Loghain Mac Tir.”

Alistair stiffened.  _Of course it does. Everything ties back to Loghain._ How the Templars of the Spire and Loghain fit together didn’t quite makes sense. “It seems an unlikely alliance for the Spire.”

Lia sat across from Alistair. “More like unholy, if you ask me. Loghain runs the slave trade in Thedas. The Spire looks the other way and even partakes of Loghain’s _stock_.” The disdain in her voice, genuine to his ear, carried Alistair to join her.

“How does Zee figure into all this?”

She sighed. “I thought he was onboard with finding the proof of this agreement and bringing it to the Divine. He’d set me there because, well because you’re right. I’m not like most nobles. My family owns one of the largest airship fleets in Thedas. Based out of Antiva, the Montilyet-Trevelyan family lines go back ages. We’ve been a part of major change and freedoms throughout Thedas.”

“Why the Crows?”

Lia leaned forward, starting at the table. “My brother, he took a contract without checking everything. Turned out he was carrying small arms and incendiaries for one of Loghain’s men. The ship went down over the Waking Sea because the crates weren’t marked as explosives. I lost my brother and twenty five good men.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alistair whispered his remorse. Cullen rested a hand on Lia’s shoulder.

She laughed, shrugging them off. “Here’s the best part! The destination? The fucking Spire.” She pushed up from the chair. “Loghain and the Spire had to pay for those deaths, but my brother deserved better,” her anger coated every word, “vengeance for Aidan led me to the Crows.”

Once Lia shared her reasons, she spoke without hesitation. The opportunity to bring down the Spire appealed to the Crows. At first, most were reluctant to infiltrate the Spire-until Lia met Zee. It was his plan to use her family name, his story of her infractions that led her to exile at the Spire. “It was only to be a few months; Zee had promised to send help for my release.”

Cullen took up the tale. “Eighteen months, Alistair. The betrayal is clear. Zee left her to the Templars and when our circumstances led him back? Zee took advantage to complete his mission.”

The dwindling light in Alistair’s cabin signaled the arrival of evening and the approach to the Tower’s docks.  “I am sorry for all you endured. When we arrive, I will insist the Proctor see you are returned home, but I can’t condemn a man without knowing his story.  Zee will answer for his part.”

“Home?” The strain in Cullen’s voice caught Alistair’s attention. “Surely Lia could be welcomed, her knowledge of airships and travel-”

Alistair resisted the urge to smile, seeing his eagerness in Cullen. _He cares for her, even after so little time,_ but he guessed Lia might not wish to join them. “Lia has not returned home in some time, my friend. The choice is hers.” Alistair left the two alone and took his time before venturing below. He hoped Zee could explain.

Unaware of the accusations against him, Zee sat atop several crates recounting a story to the men assigned as guards. When Alistair approached, the wide grin that took over Zee’s expression left Alistair with hollowness in his chest. _He may be scattered and prone to silliness, but I don’t see how Zee could be so malicious._

With arms outstretched, Zee welcomed Alistair to his private party. “Cousin! At last! Tell me you have come to free us from the cargo hold! The Griffin is a wonder, yes, but I would greatly prefer the view from her deck.” He gestured to the deckhands. “You will be pleased to note that your men have been most hospitable and even managed to laugh at more than a few of my quips and tales.”

“Thank you both,” Alistair said, and with a slight jerk of his head he asked the men to leave. Zee’s joviality melted into a frown.

“You are troubled.”

Nodding, Alistair sat on a crate nearby. “I’m not sure what comes next, Zee.”

“Ah,” Zee replied, taking a seat nearby. “Lia. She is who she claims. Lady Maximilliane Trevelyan, heiress to the Montilyet-Trevelyan shipping lines. Unfortunate naming, but then she does not differ from you or I. Slaves to the exploits of our predecessors, the expectations of blood are often more than we are willing to pay.”

Alistair blinked several times, surprised at Zee’s insight.

With a wag of his finger, Zee laughed. “For shame cousin. You see me as nothing more than a petty thief or a well-dressed toy without a care.”

Apologies stammered out but Zee held up his hand.

“Not to worry, it is all part of the act. The fact even you, as bright as you are, believe the persona I have created for the world to see is a testament to my skills, is it not?”

“Lia believes you abandoned her.  Your actions support her claim,” Alistair said. “Help me understand.”

“The lady is not entirely wrong. You see, I had planned to do as we discussed. She would work from the inside, learn the passageways and find the records we sought.” The way Zee leaned forward, he seemed to deflate; all the bravado that had carried him left in a single heaving sigh. “The fault was mine. I failed to devise an escape for her and in doing so, left Lia to the Spire.” He looked up into Alistair’s concern. “I can only hope she was not mistreated or injured in any way, I would not know how to make amends if she suffered.”

“Zee,” Alistair countered, “eighteen months.”

“I know. I did not stop looking for the means of her escape, I have the proof of many attempts, but in this one task I failed and not with a purpose, but because it was truly beyond my ability.”  He stood and slipped into his coat. “Whatever the lady asks I will do. If I am to pay, then so be it. It is her right.”

Raising his brow, Alistair noted the omission of what took place not hours before. “Before you so gallantly surrender, what were you doing at the Spire?”

The feigned laughter only deepened Alistair’s disbelief. “Oh that? A collection of ledger and cargo manifests that prove Loghain, the Spire and several ranking noble families have been trading elves and others as property.  Auntie will be pleased to say the least.”

Alistair held out his hand. “I’ll take it all. Now.”

“Will you at least tell Auntie I helped?”

“Yes, but first you will apologize-with deep sincerity-to Lia.” It was possible she would not accept any explanation and still demand satisfaction, but Alistair hoped for something more positive.  

l-l-l

Everything changed on final approach. The air bristled with foreboding, chilled more than he thought possible, Alistair shivered. He scanned the skies within his line of sight and saw nothing but serene blue skies and fluffed clouds. Despite what his eyes told him, a thought clawed at his gut and soured the fresh air. Something’s wrong.

Alistair ignore Leliana and Cullen, hurrying past them toward the rope ladder that could carry him to the crow’s nest. He didn’t bother to ask them if they felt a change in the air; knowing in the asking they might consider him quite mad.

Calls for Alistair to wait went unheeded as he slipped on his gloves to grip the rope even faster; hauling himself up toward the lookout, sure they were headed for trouble.

And yet the skies high above showed no signs, no dark clouds or looming shadows. He sunk against the mast and wondered how he could be so wrong. Alistair returned to the deck, consumed with the notion of trouble waiting for them.  

It wasn’t until they neared the Tower at Kinloch Hold it became clear. Alistair heard the call of the deckhand, pulling his attention away from his thoughts.

“Welcoming party, Ser!”

Handed a spyglass, Alistair turned the lens to sharpen the image. What he saw turned his stomach. Lisette and Morrigan waited for them and even at a distance, Alistair read the fear on Lisette’s face. The Griffin drifted closer to the dock and with every inch Lisette’s true emotion solidified for him. Her face slick and wet from tears, her eyes puffed and red nearly forced him over the railing and toward her even before the docking maneuver completed.

His concern caught in his throat and it fell to Morrigan to speak for them.  “Alistair. I must ask that you remain calm.”

His jaw tightened and twitched, eyes darting from Lisette’s tear-streaked cheeks to Morrigan’s sympathetic glances.  “Never ask someone to _remain calm_ , it has the opposite effect.” Lisette required his attention first. He dipped his head to meet her gaze. “Everything will be all right,” he said with a smile. 

Her tears fell fast and lips quivered. Beyond her, Alistair noted the arrival of the Proctor and the First Enchanter. “Awfully crowded for our arrival, are the elves from Orzammar well?”

Morrigan confirmed all arrived and were under the mages’ care. “Alistair. ‘Tis not an easy thing I must tell you. Know you have my help whatever you decide.” 

Facing Morrigan, Alistair said nothing; his thoughts sorted through everything he knew from Lisette’s tears to the apologetic stares of Morrigan and the others.  It was then he noted the absence of his mother. “Where’s Dela?”

A heaving sigh answered him and Morrigan’s uncharacteristic silence weighed upon him. “’Tis no one’s fault-”  

His brow furrowed, annoyed at Morrigan’s vague replies. “Where is my mother?”  The unanswered question sat in his stomach, taking root in pain and suffering.  He blinked away the terrible thoughts flowering in his imagination, but the hint of weakened resolve filtered into his speech. “Does she . . .is she?” He couldn’t bring himself to give credence to a fate he wasn’t willing to accept.

Morrigan nodded. “We believe she lives, take comfort.”

His voice rose in volume as he spoke. “Take. . .take _comfort_? You _believe_ she lives? Someone-anyone-explain before I get angry.”

From his left, the soothing voice of the Proctor urged Alistair to leave the dock and follow him inside. “You will know all we understand, and then we can discuss what must be done.”

Before Alistair could speak, he was shoved aside by Firand. “Come on, kid. I know a pile of nug shit when I see it. Vanda’s in trouble.  Get inside, let’s hear ‘em out and then we haul ass.”

The Proctor held out his hand. "It's so good to see you Fir."

Firand glared in response. "Save it. Don't get me started. Vanda needs us.” Another glance behind him caught Alistair mid step. “Suck a nug, move! While I’ve still got all my hair!”

The group on the docks stood in silent shock, except for Leliana. Her laughter shifted the solemn mood of those on the dock. “Maybe we should head inside, I’m not quite sure I’m ready for more of his unique phrasing.”

The Proctor agreed, leading the way. “This is mild, believe me. You don’t want to hear what falls freely when Firand is truly unsettled.”

Lisette’s hold on Alistair’s arm made it difficult to walk the narrow dock to the Tower entrance, but he did nothing to discourage her.  “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.” He hoped the reassurance might ease her concerns, but her grip tightened.

She mumbled a few words. Unable to hear over the parade of people moving around them, he held back. “Lisette?”

Her hands still clung to his sleeves, her eyes searching his face. “Loghain. He came for you.” She swallowed a sob. “Dela sent me below with the others, told them to hide me in the engine room.”

He tried not to react, Lisette’s sorrow was too raw, and it hurt. He wanted to reassure her, console her, but his thoughts were torn between Lisette and his mother. _Dela can take care of herself_ , he thought and even the admission steeled his resolve enough to speak. “I’d worry about the kind of damage Dela is capable of inflicting.” Alistair managed a smile and mustered as must optimism and confidence as he could. “Come to think on it, it’s likely Loghain is regretting his decision as we speak.” He pretended to think on his words, setting his jaw firm to stress his certainty. “Don’t you worry about Dela, my dear.”

Lisette pressed her lips together, and for a moment Alistair thought she might cry once more, but she repeated the motion until her lips appeared almost pale.

He realized she tried not to laugh, finding some part of his reassurances humorous. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Vehement shakes of her head served as a response, but Alistair knew better. He wanted to lighten her burden and mood. Somehow, he’d succeeded. Wiping the tear streaks from her cheeks he leaned in close. “Hello, beautiful.” He’d missed having Lisette nearby and wanted to apologize for upsetting her in Orzammar. It seemed she’d put aside her anger when Dela had been abducted, but Alistair understood he’d hurt her and could not let it wait.

“Lizzy, I-”

Yanked from behind, Alistair nearly yelped in surprise to find Firand glaring up at him. “You can play kissy face later kid, we’ve got a mission to plan.”

l-l-l

The cacophony of sound in the Proctor’s office added to Alistair’s aggravation. Loghain had Dela, but no one had any insight where he might hide her. Morrigan kept going on about a construct which earned Leliana and Cullen’s rebukes while Lia and Zee argued over who would lead the mission. Everyone talking at once, protests, pleas and even solemn oaths drove him to shout. “Shut up all of you!”

His breath fell in ragged gasps. When the room quieted, Alistair took control. “Now, we must  discover where Loghain has taken my mother. One at a time, give me your ideas.”

Morrigan stepped forward and glared at the others daring any to usurp her lead. “We go to the Wilds. ‘Tis a quick journey, but what we seek can only be awakened by the blood of the line.”

Alistair didn’t want to know. He wanted to ignore Morrigan but couldn’t. “What will we find? The Wilds are nothing but swamp and rock. No one lives there.”

She approached, her eyes never breaking their pointed stare. “The point, Alistair was to keep something hidden. It slumbers now but will wake if called. And it-or rather- she will find Dela.”

Zee cleared his throat. “If I may, if you are speaking of what I think you are and contemplating waking such a creature, perhaps now is not the time.”

Morrigan lips curled into a sneer. “You know nothing.”

“Oh ho! Dear lady, allow me to regale the group gathered here with a tale.”  He closed the distance between them. “I know exactly what you seek.” He smiled. Alistair understood the challenge behind it but did not interrupt; Zee waited for a moment before relaxing his posture. “Now, I will admit to being called a few different things in my young life; some good and yes, even some quite not, but I am certain I have never been called stupid.” Morrigan scoffed and narrowed her eyes, but Zee took little notice. “I forgive you, you see. For the name calling and for allowing my beloved Auntie to fall into Loghain’s hands. No doubt you wish to make amends, but we can discuss your apology later.”

“Zee, leave it.” Alistair needed a plan; they were no closer to an answer, and he’d had enough of all the well-meaning suggestions. His patience was all but gone. “What about the construct? How bad can it be?”

Scanning the faces in the room, only Zee and Morrigan seemed in the know; Lisette shrugged and shook her head. Morrigan took the lead. “With any venture there is a danger, Alistair, but this is the only way to find Dela.”

Not to be outdone, Zee applauded. “You have a gift for understatement. While there is no denying the risk associated with such an epic quest, you seem to be content to gloss over the fact that you have asked us to wake a dragon.”

The quiet that had taken the room erupted into fear and excitement. Alistair shook his head, hoping he’d misheard. “Did you. . .but there aren’t. . .a dragon?”

Zee had his audience. “Yes Alistair. My Auntie tried to make a dragon, much like the creature she sought to give you and just like your griffin construct, the dragon proved so volatile it was sealed in a ruin.”

Alistair pictured something the size of Morrigan’s companion. “But Mother. . .she’s not violent.”

“Oh Alistair,” Zee laughed through his words, “you are most amusing. That _toy_ is not dangerous. What waits in the Wilds is at least ten times the size and more foul tempered than a raging storm.”

Firand, pushed his way into the group, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “When do we go?”


	21. At the Heart of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A massive dragon construct sleeps in an ancient ruin. Alistair's concern for his mother continues to trouble him, but when he starts hearing voices he finds another ally.

For the third time in an hour, Alistair had to dodge a fire blast from the dragon’s mouth.

“Hey!”  Rising to his feet, Alistair dusted the dirt from his vest. “A friendly reminder, my dear. I can burn, quite easily.”

Lisette ducked her head out of the midsection, her face streaked in grease smudges and a small wrench clenched in her mouth. She cringed, removing the tool and offering an apology. “Sorry, she’s a bit temperamental, I’m afraid. Let me try something else!”  She slid inside the ribbed cage. A few clangs preceded a rare expletive and another apology. “Sorry!” 

Alistair held back his laugh, and stepped closer, but Lisette broke free, her eyes wide. “Run!”  She reached for him, clasping his hand and tugging him away from the towering creature. 

The two sprinted clear of the dragon just before a blast of flame engulfed the head. It sputtered twice more and belched a plume of black smoke.  The two stood near where Firand and Morrigan waited, seated on a cluster of large boulders.  Firand’s laughter nearly rocked him off his seat.   “For a hairy nug’s sake, that thing’s a menace!” He hopped off and approached Lisette. “You see? The mixture is too strong, missy.  That’s not fire magic, it’s alchemy and a tiny spark.” He held out his hand for the wrench and wiggled his stubby fingers. “Give it here.”

Lisette’s reluctance prompted Alistair to refuse as politely as possible. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing, Firand.”

Waving away Alistair’s concern, Firand repeated his gesture for the tools. “Pfft! You worry too much. Give it here. Who do you think taught Vanda about this stuff, huh? Me! That’s who.”

Lisette shrugged, but handed Firand her tools, and he stalked toward the metal beast wagging his finger at it and scolding it as if it were a child. “I’ll melt you into shiny buckles if you don’t behave!”

Coal black smoke wafted from the dragon’s snout, its green eyes glowing in rhythmic pulses.  Firand tinkered inside the dragon’s cavity until the beast groaned.

“Quit yer complainin’,” Firand grumbled from inside. “And if I turn this–just so.”  The dragon turned its head, testing its mobility. Segmented slats comprised its neck; each plate shifting with the sideways movement.  Firand slipped out of the cavity and slid the abdominal plates into their slots.  “Crabby girl, give the wings a stretch.”  Metal claws dug into the loose earth, and gears moved and spun inside the dragon’s chest.  “While I’m still young!” Firand scoffed and talked to the construct in a low tone.

Alistair shifted closer to Lisette. “He’s talking to the bloody dragon like she can understand him. If you ask me, somebody’s been drinking.”

Lisette turned to face him, her smile fading into worry. “Are you sure about this? There’s a reason they locked the construct in the ruin.” The concern carried from her eyes to his. “Maybe Isabela could find Loghain. Dela is sure to be in his company.”

Alistair wasn’t sure of anything, glancing over Lisette’s shoulder; the dragon stomped and shook her head, disagreeing with Firand’s quiet coaxing.

“Give me a break! Test the wings!”

Alistair returned his attention to Lisette, confidence waning. “On second thought, what happens if I anger or annoy her?”  Firand interrupted their discussion calling Lisette and Morrigan to finish the word and complete the connection.  When Lisette pulled away, Alistair grabbed her hand, preventing her retreat. “Lizzy wait!”

She moved close and kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s not the fire that would kill you; it’s the fall.”  She smiled and hurried to join Morrigan.

“It’s the fall?” He sighed. “Bloody brilliant idea, riding a temperamental construct.” Alistair swallowed hard as the dragon stretched her wings and flapped a few times, complaining in clicks and whistles.

_Can we go now?_

Alistair froze. He had heard the voice of someone other than the three others. His first thought insisted he needed sleep; hearing voices never a good sign. The hint of annoyance in the question made little sense. “Um, hello? Did someone just talk to me?”

The dragon roared.  _Of course, I talked to it! Is it stupid?_

Alistair stumbled backward; he looked for any sign the others heard the disembodied voice.  It was far from mechanical; somewhat lyrical, it wasn’t easy to identify, at least from what he heard. Alistair tapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “I think that’s it. I’ve gone mad from all this.”

The others ignored him, and Alistair wandered closer to the dragon. “Did one of you say something?”

_Not very bright, is it?_

He huffed in response; indignation coating his answer. _“_ I beg your pardon! I happen to be quite intelligent.”  The three standing near the construct turned and by the odd looks Alistair received, he realized he did, in fact, sound quite mad. Alistair feigned laughter. “So I guess that means none of you can hear her talking.”

Firand grimaced. “Sorry kid. Looks like you’re the one she’s chosen, ‘course it makes sense. You’ve got Vanda’s blood running through you. You’re not a mage, but the dragon can handle the magic end of it.”

_First intelligent thing it said since arriving. Time to go._

Morrigan walked the length of the metal dragon. “Curious. There is elemental magic in its plates.  How is this possible? I thought the fire was the extent of the creature’s magic?”  Perched on Morrigan’s shoulder Mother hissed at the larger construct.

_Can I eat the hairless bird? Would it mind?_

Trying not to laugh, Alistair decided to keep the dragon’s comments about Mother private.  “I can give you orders, right? I mean, you’ll listen to what I say?”

A huff and shuffle of metal claws in the dirt responded first.

_I suppose. I really can’t have the hairless bird?_

“No, you can’t.”

The dragon shifted her head away from the group.

_I don’t think I like it very much right now._

He scrunched up his face, a new wave of frustration filling his thoughts. “Well I don’t like you very much either, but my mother is missing and you–unfortunately–are the only one who can find her! So,” he paused, “there will be. . . no eating of anyone and you will help me or I will let Firand do what he wants.”

 _Fine_.

l-l-l

Hours passed with little progress. The dragon argued with Alistair about everything, at times acting the spoiled child taunting his companions in words only he could hear.  Alistair couldn’t listen, not with Morrigan and Firand giving him instruction on the use of crystals to alter the construct’s abilities.

Lisette continued to voice her opposition to the use of the elemental construct; citing the dangers to Alistair too great. When Morrigan offered to take Alistair’s place, the dragon rebelled.

Taking to the skies, her wings flapped harder and harder until she circled overhead. Cold hands gripped Alistair’s, and in Lisette’s widened stare and trembling lips she asked him not to go. “It’s too dangerous; surely you can see why the construct was locked away. We must shut it down.”

Reassuring words had little impact, but Alistair explained he had no choice. A shout from behind them pulled Alistair’s attention.

“Get down!” Firand ran toward the two motioning for both to drop. High above, the dragon had extended its claws aiming for where they stood.

_I am no toy to be discarded!_

The fury in the dragon’s voice sent a shiver through Alistair and he covered Lisette with his body to protect her.  The dragon dove deeper still until it retracted its claws and swooped back into the sky.

Alistair lifted Lisette to her feet.  “Is there a way to disable a construct without touching it?”

She shook her head. “Dela was working on a possible switch, but that was years ago and she couldn’t make it work.”  She bit her bottom lip. “The only way we could– “

He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “She can hear you through me. Say nothing.” Turning to Morrigan, Alistair asked her to watch over the others.  “If anything should,” he laughed, “well, should I get. . .you know. . . find Isabela. She’ll help.”

Without answering the protests and pleas from the group Alistair stepped into the clearing. He didn’t bother to shout, knowing the dragon heard him no matter the volume. “Get down here. Now. I have had enough of these games.”

_No. You want to turn me off again._

He sighed, wondering how Dela had ever created such a construct. Alistair had to think quickly. “Do you have a name?”

_A name?_

His neck began to hurt from keeping it stretch upward to follow the dragon’s flight. “Please come down here and tell me your name. No one will do anything to you.”

_Will it promise?_

This time he shouted. “Yes! I promise!”

_It doesn’t have to be so loud._

Alistair’s shoulders caved a little. This is tiring, he thought and wondered if the dragon could hear his thoughts.  “Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

_No. There are enough scary things in this world. Hairless birds, feathered fiends and rodents in the dark._

He nearly asked for an explanation, but thought to leave it for another time. Alistair moved from the center of the clearing and waited for the dragon to land.

_No one ever asked me my name._

It was her admission that moved him. Most people never cared to ask Alistair much of anything. He was always being shoved somewhere, hidden away and expected to be forgotten.  “I’m Alistair, and you are?”

_Shayle. My name was Shayle._

He stammered for a moment. “Was? I don’t. .  .were you forced?” Alistair reflected on Cullen’s aversion to the use of humans and creatures to fuel the constructs. “How?” He didn’t know what to ask. “How it is we can understand each other?”

_Bit of dark magic, best keep that quiet.  I volunteered. This wasn’t my first home, you understand. I’ve had many homes. Many lives. I don’t remember much of them anymore._

He considered Shayle’s words. “Hang on, you. . .you said _you_ , and not _it_.”

_Maybe I did._

“So you do know who I am, don’t you?”  

_We met today. In a way, I know of you.  That will have to be enough—Alistair._

l-l-l

The two talked until Shayle agreed to search for his mother. Despite Lisette’s concerns, Alistair assured her they had reached an understanding, at least Alistair believed it so.

The plan seemed simple enough; the Hero and the Griffin would trail Shayle and Alistair. After many complaints and arguments, Shayle accepted the idea of a harness to keep Alistair safe. By the time all had been agreed to, night had descended making a departure impossible until the following dawn.  Lisette urged Alistair to return to Kinloch Hold with them, but he refused to leave Shayle alone.

“Who’s going to mess with me with a twenty foot tall dragon standing guard?”  Alistair kept warm by the fire.   

_The girl cares for you._

“Yes, I know. As I care for her.”     

_Then you should not have let her return alone._

“Lizzy will be all right. I couldn’t leave you alone.”  He stood and walked closer. Shale sat similar to the cats that slept all over Redcliffe, curled as much as her articulated slats would allow, she no less imposing reclined.  “What was it you said frightened you? Hairless birds, feathered fiends and rodents?”

_If you’d spent years being shat on, having whole nests move between your ribs and legs and you unable to move, then maybe you’d understand. That hairless bird hissed at me. At me!_

“Her name is Mother. It’s a dragon construct.”

_That was a dragon? I’ve slept for nearly twenty years. Are all creatures such sizes now?_

Shayle inhaled long and slow, exhaling with a sigh. Alistair was sure the breathing noises were an affectation or memory. The dragon’s chest cavity was hollow except for the overlarge gyroscope where its heart would be. So many questions buzzed in his head, each one more curious than the previous, but knowing Shayle had proven temperamental, he refrained from asking every one of them.

“Would it be rude to ask how old you are?”

_Are you sure you are Maric’s son? He was never this rude. Then again, he had told me I was rather wide for a dragon—_

At the mention of his father, Alistair stumbled forward. “You knew him?”

_You should rest._

“No, no,” he wagged his finger, “you knew my father.”

_I have met a lot of people. They all run together._

Shayle yawned and the dragon’s maw snapped a few times before its eyes closed.  Unafraid he ventured closer, reaching out to lift Shayle’s right eyelid. “I know you aren’t sleeping. When did you see him? Did he tell you anything? Where is he?

_I have upset you._

Alistair tossed his hands up in frustration. “Maric has been missing for years! You said,” Alistair’s mouth went dry, “you said you’ve slept for twenty years. That’s not possible if you talked with Maric. Tell me where he is; I really need to know.”  Alistair took several steps back, his voice weakening. “Do you know why he left?”

_No. He searched for something. Something I saw ages ago. It’s gone. He’d wanted it for his sons, but I. . .I don’t. . .I can’t remember._

Shayle’s agitation transferred to her construct body; she rose amid creaks and clanking metal.  It didn’t take long for Alistair to comprehend he’d upset Shayle; his apologies had no effect, and Alistair worried he’d jeopardized any hope of finding Dela. Under the night sky, even darker clouds rolled in from the south, lightning illuminating the storm from within.  He couldn’t be sure what impact if any the lightning would have on Shayle’s construct body, but he needed to get her attention. To do so would require an act of complete stupidity. Alistair would have to convince Shayle he was in danger and hope she had some need to help him survive. 

He checked his sidearm rested in its holster, but his sword and shield gauntlet sat near his pack. How bad can it be in the wilds? He shrugged and stepped from the safety of the campfire and ruins. It took less than a minute for Shayle to note his absence.

_I would not have harmed you._

“Well, there’s a storm. We should go back to the tower.” Alistair turned around. Not ten feet in front of him an overlarge wolf bared its teeth and growled.  “If it’s not too much trouble, I could use a little help to your right.”

_What have you done?_

He shifted his weight to his back foot, and the wolf crouched; advancing steps carried an ever increasing growl.

“Oh, I’ve done nothing unless you count angering this rather large and terribly scary wolf. I believe he means to have a few words.” 

_Do not move._

“It’s a little late for that warning, I’m afraid. Do you think he might chase a stick?” Alistair heard what could only be described as a scoff.  “Hello?”

A sudden gust of wind from behind knocked Alistair to the ground, hard. His knees smacked together as he tumbled; waiting for the wolf to strike, he reached for the gun.

_You can get up now. I cannot travel everywhere; you should refrain from such dangers._

“Right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Thank you.”  

Shale lumbered toward the clearing. _Follow me._   There was no mistaking the order in her tone.  Alistair couldn’t help but stare at the cogs and wheels turning within the caged body of the construct. 

“Does it,” he paused before continuing. “Does it feel like you’re walking? Do you think _I have to walk now_ and then it happens?”

_Do you? I simply move. The crystal that holds my mind is a part of this construct. I don’t have to command, I am. It is as simple as that. Rest inside. I will guard the entrance._

“But the storm?”

_The elements will not harm me. Rest. I will not carry you unless you have rested._

Alistair slept well and woke just before dawn; the entrance to the ruin remained blocked by the gold and copper metal plated construct. Hesitant to test his theory that Shayle simply affected the sounds of sleep, Alistair left the entryway.

The stairs and walls of the ruin appeared somewhat intact, the blue-grey stone only crumbled at the façade where he entered. The bridge across the expanse had likely seen better days, but the clearing had provided a perfect spot to disembark. _Strange place to hide a construct_ , he thought. _The wolf had likely smelled the campfire drawing it near. There’s nothing here but rodents and foliage; hardly worth the effort for an accomplished hunter._

“What is this place?” The wonder in his question punctuated with a long whistle.

_It was once known as Ostagar. It, like so much of the past, was forgotten._

“I know this place!” Alistair returned to the entrance trying to place the familiarity of the name. He closed his eyes; the act meant to focus his mind and pull from it even a fragment of remembrance. “It was a story, or a lesson. One of the two,” Alistair said. “That’s it. Betrayal and triumph delivered in one decisive battle. It must have been a tale from a story book.”

 _Yes, it must have been._ Shayle stretched her wings, testing one and then the other. _A story for another time. Are you prepared?_

He rushed for his pack, sliding the short sword in a harness on his back. The gauntlet slid easily onto his left hand, leaving his hands free to secure the strops of the harness. “So, there’s no chance you’ll try to squash me or roast me while we search, right?” The light laughter as he spoke belied his concern.

_Would you care to test it? I can lift my claw, and you can crawl beneath it. If you survive, all the better._

Alistair’s brow raised on its own, questioning if he’d heard sarcasm or a genuine threat. “No, I don’t think we’ll need that test.”

_Then prepare yourself._

l-l-l

“This was too easy,” Alistair said, pacing the deck of the Griffin. Dela and Cullen’s attempts to convince Alistair otherwise failed. The Heart of Ferelden had barely enough crew to man the ship and Dela managed to free herself from the locked room. Had she not been onboard an airship, his mother could have walked free without confrontation. Shayle needed only land on the overlarge deck to scare away any who thought to challenge their arrival.   _All too easy_. The simplicity of the rescue prevented Alistair from any sense of accomplishment; he was sure the struggle was far from over.

Only Lia agreed. Perched near the figurehead, she gripped the rigging tight. “You _should_ be worried. This smells rotten.”  She nodded toward the Heart as it disappeared into the clouds. “That’s a decoy. Loghain is nearby—you can count on it.” Without turning around Lia’s shoulders stiffened. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but I can feel it. It’s coming.” She scanned the skies, now and then shaking her head. “No bells, word of mouth. Prepare for an attack; one ship to port and the other to starboard. Loghain will use his favorite tactic—a pincer attack. The Hero will be unable to assist; she’ll be blocked with no option but to retreat. That is, until we go down.”

Alistair said nothing; he couldn’t let her know his concerns for the Hero and Lizzy. Following Lia’s warning, he ordered a silent crossing—no bells, no calls. Secure in the knowledge his crew would follow the orders; Alistair asked one final favor of Shayle. “Carry Dela to the Hero; after that go wherever you wish.”

At first Dela and Shayle protested; both certain they could be of more use to Alistair. “Mother, we’ve no way to tell the Hero what comes; Lizzy will need your help.” It took a heavy dose of convincing words to move the two; even though Alistair was sure the dragon’s flight would attract attention.

Lia continued to direct the crew; weapons passed and laid nearby with no outward sign of readiness. She’d ventured below to speak with the engineers. Alistair had to admire her tenacity, but he knew the sharpness of focus stemmed from her deep hatred of their mutual enemy. Lia returned and reported all positions ready for whatever may come.

Alistair, Cullen and Lia waited; the ship fell into an eerie silence with nothing but the low hum of engines below. The Hero had sunk into the cover somewhere nearby, they would wait unseen. When Leliana emerged from below, two deck hands carried a bucket with black sludge and one of the night torches to the main mast. “I’ve activated the beacon, there’s no guarantee The Siren will receive it.” Leliana removed the large crossbow from it strop. “This is the best we could do for a signal, the Hero will watch for the fire.” She stopped near the three and nodded toward the bucket. “It’s sealant; light it and it carries a bit of a nasty kick when it lands, absolute murder to get unstuck.”

Her words carried the desired effect, all three smiled despite the impending attack. From high above in the crow’s nest, a shrill whistle broke the silence, and those on deck readied their weapons. Leliana nodded to Alistair. “Maker watch over us.”

Returning Leliana’s nod, Alistair glanced heavenward. _A little help would be appreciated_ , he thought, just as the first of two ships emerged. Lia stomped twice on the deck and the sudden increase in speed caused the Griffin to lurch forward and list to port. “You might want to ready yourself, if this works we’ll pull clear of the formation.”

Alistair stared disbelieving at Lia. “And if it doesn’t?”

“It’ll tear the ship in two and it won’t matter.” She smiled wide and stomped on the deck once more. “Hang on!”     


	22. The Griffin's Last Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught by two ships from Loghain's fleet, Alistair and company fight for the Griffin's survival.

The Southron Hills remained largely untouched over the years. Farmers and sheep herders still roamed the knolls and glens, preferring a quiet anonymity in the eastern highlands of Ferelden; its lush uplands provided the perfect escape for those who yearned for a simpler life.

High above the rolling hills, several farmers noted a curious change to the midday sky. Far too early for sunset; puffed white clouds melted into fiery reds and burnt orange until the skies opened and rained soot blackened charcoal lumps and metal shards piercing the defenseless earth below. Escaping injury and fleeing with their charges, tales spread like the wind of the unnatural storms over their peaceful home.

l-l-l

“Could you at least try to aim for their ship and avoid ours?” Alistair cringed; he hadn’t meant to sound so angry or shrill, but it had to be said. Leliana had the right idea, but kept missing the mark. “The Griffin is not fireproof!” The Griffin shuddered from yet another impact to her hull, testing the balance of those on deck. They’d weathered the attack on their port side with minimal damage, but their opponent’s tenacity and little regard for their own ship shifted the advantage away from the Griffin. Leliana planted her leading foot and fired another barrage of flaming arrows.

Her head whipped around and she glared, her jaw set. “I’m trying, but we’re in the middle of a bloody battle in case you hadn’t noticed. Care to ask if they can refrain from ramming us every few minutes?”

She was right; Alistair knew it, conceding with a wave and an apology. Her expression softened, and she tried to smile. “We’ll make it, I believe that.” Her eyes widened at something behind him. “Look lively, Alistair,” she pointed behind him, “I believe that’s round six of boarders.”

He hoped the inward sigh hadn’t shown on his face, but Alistair had begun to doubt. They’d beaten the Stalwart and it had lost so much of its hull, it limped away with Alistair’s mercy. He’d countermanded Lia’s order to destroy the ship, not wanting to have multiple deaths hanging over him.

“Right,” he said, before apologizing again. “I didn’t mean what I said–without your help,” his brow creased thinking on how much all of his companions had carried for him so far, “thanks. Just. . .do your best.” He hurried off, not hearing her reply.

They were tiring, all of them. The entire crew had held back not one but two airships and their crew. Lia’s obsession with finding Loghain consumed her; so certain he traveled on one of the attacking ships, she’d ignored every order in favor of hunting for Loghain. When the battle had started, the confidence and hatred in their opponent’s eyes had been unshakeable, but Lia’s need for vengeance carried the charge, earning a quick surrender from the Stalwart’s crew and captain. Heavily damaged and men spared, when the Stalwart withdrew, Alistair expected Loghain’s flagship to follow and retreat.

They’d underestimated the determination of Loghain’s men. Wave after wave of boarders set their blades and arms to seek out Alistair. Cullen and Lia blocked the most direct path, and Leliana guarded his flank. Alistair tired of the living shield created around him, and sought to face his attackers with little concern for himself.

Squaring off with shield gauntlet deployed and sword at the ready, Alistair found only one man waiting for him. Heavily clothed for a deckhand, the overlarge waistcoat unbalanced the man, his face appeared tanned and weathered; he carried far more years than Alistair. The man swallowed hard and exhaled sharply, revealing the fear behind his outward bravery.

Duncan had showed him how to read the signs; tentative stances and a persistent shake in the hands and arms. He’d had enough of bloodshed, but Alistair stood firm. If they failed, the Hero would be next, and he had promised Lisette’s safety. He tested his opponent and advanced. The man stumbled, holding onto the sword with two hands. Alistair shook his head and pointed at the man with his weapon. “Drop that and you will see mercy. I doubt Loghain would do the same.”

The tremors in the hands grew more pronounced until the shaking seemed to penetrate every muscle; his jaw, lips and neck muscles twitched fear taking hold. Sweat poured down his face, disappearing into the collar of the dark waistcoat. His head swiveled left and right, but what he searched for Alistair could not discern.

The man stammered as he lowered the blade. “I am sorry, Ser. I had no choice.”

Run, his heart told him, but his head refused to let him retreat. Alistair almost stepped forward until he saw tears in the man’s eyes and another apology fell from his lips.

“Maker forgive me. So young. Like my boys.” The sword fell with a hollow thud against the deck and with shaking hands, reached for the waistcoat. Beneath it, the intricate contraption of coils, canisters and a viscous red liquid could only mean one thing-a bomb.

Alistair understood. In that moment, he remembered Cailan’s attack and the Ostagar. This was his Ostagar. “No!” Alistair shouted, sprinting away from his saboteur. “Bomb!” He shouted as loud as his voice would allow repeating his warning until the cry carried across the deck; the bell sounded the warning and in that moment, a blast of heat and force knocked Alistair to the deck.

Trying to move, Alistair tried to open his eyes. Two more heavy blasts shook the deck, Alistair’s prone body jostled back and forth. He managed to open one eye, fleeting images of black smoke and scurrying feet shifted out of focus.

_“Come on brother mine, this is no time for napping.” Cailan’s laugh and imposing frame sat next to Alistair. “And before you ask, no this most certainly isn’t real.” He gripped Alistair’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “You took quite the graceful spill there. I suspect the impact with the deck messed with your head.” Cailan moved Alistair’s hair away from his face. “You might consider a haircut. You’re the Regent now.”_

_Alistair groaned._

_“Yes, I’m sure it must hurt.” Cailan sighed. “I’m flattered you’ve kept me in that head of yours, but I’m not coming back, dear brother. It’s time for you to do things as Alistair should, not look to me for answers.” He clapped his hands together. “Good talk, but it’s time to wake up and get off this ship.”_

It took a moment for Alistair’s eyes to open, he’d lost his sword at some point and the shield gauntlet pinched his wrist. He called to his brother, sure the other still sat with him. “Cailan.” He felt hands on his arms and Alistair struggled against them. “Cailan!” Voices and sounds were muted into a muddy mess of indiscernible words and tones. The sound of blood rushing through his ears only upset him more.

Only when a flood of numbness and calm covered him in a green light did he realize he was safe; his body lifted and turned toward a familiar face. Cullen’s matted hair and sweat streaked face stared at him.

Cullen’s lips moved and sounds poured from him, but Alistair tenderly tapped his ear. Warm hands covered his ears and another flow of energy enveloped him. Words slowly sharpened as Cullen and another hurried Alistair away.

“I’m alive,” he whispered, rubbing away the last remnants of pain.

“Pfft, barely. Seeing ghosts it would seem.” The scoff from his left bristled against his declaration, but as the person spoke, Alistair realized Leliana stooped in front of him. “The Griffin burns. They only sent a few men. They detonated only three of six bombs, and the damage is manageable to get all to safety, but the Griffin is lost. We’ve begun evacuations. However, the men refuse to abandon the ship until you are safely away.”

Alistair disagreed. “Get them out of here. We’ll need to steer her away from cities and towns before she goes down.”

Cullen nodded. “Lia is working on it, but you have to go–now.”

The slight tile of Leliana’s head and a coy smile confused Alistair. Before he could ask about her odd behavior she added, “your dragon is blocking most of the undamaged deck. So for the rest of us, please go,” she gestured over her shoulder without losing her amusement.

“My. . .my dragon?”

_Did you really think I would sit and do nothing? They’re staring at me. You’d think a dragon a rare sight. Could you hurry?_

Shayle’s voice carried in his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

_Nothing. You say nothing, what you do is stop this foolishness! Must I tell you how to walk, too?_

Alistair insisted on standing unaided. He wanted the men to know Loghain had failed, but his concern stalled him. “What of the other airship?”

_Had you not sent me away, this might have ended sooner. The second ship burns as it falls toward the ground. You’re welcome._

“There are wounded men. Help them first.” He gave direction to those closest to his position. “Two at a time, take an injured man each trip.” A quick count of the half dozen injured concerned him. “Shayle, can you carry more than two?”

_I believe I can, but you must-_

“No! The injured first!” Alistair’s shout renewed the pain in his head. His hand reached up to his temple; pressing hard against it, Alistair’s vision blurred and then sharpened again. _This isn’t good_ , he thought. _I must have hit my head hard as Cailan said._

Cullen appeared again offering to help, but Alistair shrugged him off, directing the attention on the men. “When they’re all on board the Hero, I’ll allow any and all fussing over me.” He instructed Cullen to travel with the next group of wounded. “Do as I ask. I promise – I will follow.”

_You’re a fool._

Closing his eyes once more, Alistair waved Shayle’s admonishment away offering no resistance. “You’re right, but help the others. Then this _fool_ will go without arguing.”

The warning bell rang out the fire call, and another pattern. Ship approaching. “Oh, wonderful. Now what?” The call to the port side saw Alistair’s stumbling gait nearly sending him into the deck again, but a sturdy hand helped him stand. To his right, Leliana glanced at him once.

“It’s a bit slippery, thank you for steadying me,” she said the hint of a grin flashed along with a wink.

He tried to laugh and winced instead. “Please tell me that’s a friendly flag.”

She tightened her grip and held him. “That depends. It’s the Siren’s Command. If the captain will let us aboard without charging a rescue fee, then it’s a friendly ship. If not, I may have to have a few words.”

“Isabella came through,” he said, leaning on the rail. “Go. I’m fine,” he lied.

Leliana’s disagreement carried in a soft tutting sound. She leaned closer. “No, you are not. Now I can knock you out right here, or you can stop your arguing and move. I’ll insist we go straight to the Hero.” She took a deep breath and talked through her exhale. “So, what will it be?”

True to her word, Leliana refused to leave Alistair alone, keeping all others away, so as not to reveal the extent of his injuries. Cullen had cautioned Alistair he would need several days of rest; he had healed as much as magic would allow.

When the Hero pulled alongside Isabella’s ship, Alistair could barely stand without the aid of another. Leliana guided him on board, supporting his every step and hiding him from the curious eyes of all.

l-l-l

Alistair woke unable to move his legs. Panic rose from his chest fearing the worst. When a whine pulled his attention toward his feet, he realized Sprocket the cause of his immobility. A soft bark and a gentle head butt on his knee relaxed him. “I missed you too, but could you shift a bit, I can’t move my legs.”

Sprocket released the hold on Alistair, jumped from the bed with a bark and left. Within seconds, voices grew loader on approach and Alistair forced his numb legs to bend, sitting up with some effort. He heard someone hush another and then silence. A dull throb at his temple nearly forced him to rest again, and he shut his eyes.

“Maker’s Breath, but you are one lucky man,” Lisette’s dulcet voice coaxed a smile.

He chuckled. “So I gathered. Will I live?”

“Yes, it seems so. Are you in pain?”

Alistair shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Liar.”

Reaching for her hand, he attempted to reassure. “It’s dulled to minor aches, nothing more. Sorry if I worried you.”

Lisette shivered. “Worried me? Alistair. When the Griffin. . .I saw. . .I thought. . . Morrigan warned me I wasn’t prepared for what may come and I’m afraid she’s right.”

“Lizzy I-”

She gripped his hand tighter. “Please. I’ve come to care for you a great deal, perhaps now isn’t the right time, but staying may not be,” Lisette stopped and bowed her head. Alistair’s uncertainty gave way into the belief Lisette wanted nothing more to do with him.

“I understand,” he said, despite the meaning behind her words. _She’s leaving, and it’s my fault._ “I’m so very sorry,” he paused, swallowing his disappointment, “there’s no other way to say this. My head is all muddled, and I can’t remember what happened or even where we are, but I know one thing.” Pain grew behind his eyes forcing them closed.

“You need rest.”

“No!” Surprised at his reaction, Alistair quieted his voice. “Please, I need to you to know something before you leave.”

She repeated his words with a quiver to her voice. “Leave. Right,” her forced smile ended as soon as it bloomed, “I understand. It’s Leliana.”

“What about Leliana?”

Lisette stood and turned from him. “She’s lovely.”

He couldn’t be sure why Lisette brought up Leliana and thinking on it only added to his discomfort. “Why are we talking about Leliana?”

“Because you love her.”

“I love her.” Alistair repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, no. I don’t. I think I would know if I did.” His ears reddened. “I might as well just confess; I may be alive, but you’re leaving me and I think my head might split apart, so it really can’t get much worse.” Pressing the heels of his hands on his temples Alistair rose to his feet. Lisette tried to interrupt him “No, let me finish, before I lose my nerve.”

“Alistair, wait.”

He steadied himself. “Before you go, I just wanted you to know I. . .I love you.” He tried to smile, but the walls and room began to spin. “I meant what I said, but right now I think I’m about to faint, so please excuse me, my dear. The floor is calling me.”

The next time Alistair opened his eyes, he woke in a different room entirely. The lack of motion suggested somehow he’d arrived on land; the roaring fire at the far end of the room confirmed it. Despite the blaze, Alistair shivered; wondering if the scene to be yet another illusion of the mind, he covered his eyes with his arm. “Now you’re not playing fair,” he said to the empty room.

Alistair heard the door latch jiggle and muffled voices. At least I’m not dreaming again. “Come in,” he called out, before quieting his voice, “then leave me to my misery.” He’d lost the Griffin, Lisette and any hope of finding Maric.

It took only a few seconds for Dela to reach Alistair; she leaned over him smoothing his hair. “You look much better,” she said, stepping away while she talked. “I worried when we couldn’t wake you on the Hero, but once again the Templar surprised me.”

He bristled at the slight against Cullen. “The Templar has a name mother, and Cullen is a friend.”

She laughed. “I know who Cullen is, and he has all but pledged his life’s blood to your recovery. He’s a good man, but I refer to the young woman from the Spire.”

“Oh, you mean Lia. What happened?”

Dela explained that when he’d fainted, none could wake him. Lia had suggested burning a common herb often used during sparring matches. “It’s bitter when burned. I’m actually rather ashamed I’d never thought to use it as described.” She returned to his side, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. “No fever,” she said leaning even more to stare at his eyes. “Your eyes are more responsive now, too. Good. We should be able to leave Redcliffe in a day or so.”

“Redcliffe?”

A loud, unending knock on the door ending their conversation, and Alistair shifted to rise. Dela held out her hand offering to help. Even before she could reach it, the door swung open with such force; it slammed against the wall. A whirlwind of huge sheets of paper and a figure hurried into the room; Dela stepped clear to avoid a collision. “Dela!” With one word, Alistair’s eyes widened recognizing Lisette buried under paper in large rolls in a haphazard pile.

“Lizzy,” near to breathless, he hadn’t expected to see her again.

She turned on her heel and faced him. “You’re awake!” She looked at her hands and shrugged. “I’d. . .but then you’d,” she showed him her hands, blotched from ink, her fingertips were tinged a dark blue and black, remnants of ink and hours of work. “But I think I’ve figured it out!”

He nodded, confused and yet amused at her disheveled appearance and manic excitement. Her hair sat piled atop her head with no less than four or five carbon pencils in her hair, smudges on her cheeks and nose urging a smile to his lips. Despite the loss of her affections, he couldn’t help but join in her happiness. “What have you figured out?”

Dela promised to return with something from the kitchen and left the two alone.

She grabbed several pages and hurried next to him, her closeness warming his face. “The Griffin. I’ve taken Dela’s design and I think it can work. Armor plating. She’ll have to be a beast from bow to stern with engines to match and keep her aloft, but I can make it work!” She laid the sheet across them both and pointed for him to hold the right side. “Look! Shayle gave me the idea! Escape launches!”

Overwhelmed by her presence and excitement, he spoke without inflection. “It’s brilliant. Truly brilliant.”

Her joy disappeared, replaced by a sudden surge of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you were leaving.”

“No. Why would you think I was leaving? Are you taking it back?”

“Taking what back?” Eyes wide, he tried to follow the conversation. “I’m confused.”

“I can see that. You can’t just tell someone you love them and then take it back like it never happened. You’re not making any sense.” No anger laced her words, but there was no mistaking the tear trailing down her cheek. “I can see I made a mistake. I should go.”

“No, you should stay.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t slept in a day, maybe two. I’m tired and bothering you. You’re supposed to rest.”

“So keep me company,” he stood with hesitation, but gathered the papers from her and placed them on the desk. “I’ll rest if you will.” Alistair held out his hand. “And, to make it perfectly clear, I am not taking it back. I meant what I said.”

She laughed and cried at the same time, apologizing and fidgeting with her hair. “But, I’m a mess.”

He shrugged. “Actually, you’re incredible Lizzy. You said it best; I am a _lucky_ man.” Lisette’s protests continued until small moves carried them closer to one another. There was something so endearing in her elation, but more than anything he wanted to reassure her of what he knew. He loved her, but simply saying so didn’t seem enough. Gentle motions lifted her chin and with a smile he traced her bottom lip with his thumb whispering to her. “Hello, beautiful.”


	23. Words Wouldn't Come Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulled away from Lisette by responsibilities, Alistair only half listens to Eamon's insistent words. His head and heart are far more occupied with finding the way back to her.

Everything was perfect. The two stood alone in Alistair’s room; they’d laughed and held one another each knowing what would follow. The knock on the door had barely registered, and had Eamon not waited for Alistair’s response, he might have discovered a very different scene. A quiet curse met with Lisette’s stifled laughter. “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.” Alistair’s promise delivered, he acknowledged the interruption and offered permission to enter.

The door opened revealing Eamon the younger; almost immediately, he took notice of Alistair’s company, his questioning eyes falling on the two. Alistair shifted to block Lisette from view, but Eamon greeted her first. “Lady Cousland. What a delightful surprise to find you here.” Eamon’s raised brow and pointed glare moved to Alistair. “I’m afraid I must interrupt your _meeting_ , Alistair. We have important matters to discuss.”

“Later,” Alistair refused to concede. Lisette’s happiness of greater importance than any matter Eamon might champion.

“I’m afraid not.” Eamon stepped into the hall and caught the attention of one of the house staff, ushering them inside. “My dear Lisette, if you please, your room is in the guest wing. Moira will assist you.”

Lisette gripped the back of Alistair shirt, resting her head against his back.  His neck and jaw tightened. “I’ll find you later, Eamon.”

“Your life is not your own, _Your Grace_. Lady Cousland well knows the expectations.”

The sigh that left her pained him. “Eamon is right,” she hesitated, and tentative steps pulled her away. “I apologize.”

“Lisette. . .Lizzy, you don’t have to leave.”

She didn’t turn to face him. “Yes, I do.”

Invisible tethers pulled him toward Lisette’s departing form; so drawn to her he nearly followed her into the hall. Eamon stretched his arm and halted any further movement. “My office, if you please.”

The attendant rushed Lisette toward the guest wing while a firm hand on Alistair’s elbow guided him in the opposite direction. Eamon’s hushed voice did little to hide his bewilderment. “We have a problem and you’re hiding in your room with Lisette Cousland? I gather she finds you,” he paused, adding a teasing lilt to his voice. “What was it you said? Far less likely to cause spitting and smoke plumes from her ears? Unless I misread the scene, you two have grown rather fond of one another?”

Despite Eamon’s amicable grin and slight twinkle of amusement, Alistair did not see the humor.  “I need recovery time from being blown up, Eamon.”

“Almost blown up, if we’re to be correct.” Reaching the study door, Eamon opened it, waiting for Alistair to step inside. “We can argue this another time; a serious obstacle developed while you were off on your excursion.”

Alistair remembered the study from his childhood years. Despite the ailing Arl, the younger Eamon had assumed all the pertinent responsibilities, with no lapse in attention. Eamon slipped comfortably behind the desk and slid a folder of papers toward Alistair.  “Sign these and _then_ we can discuss what I witnessed between you and Lady Cousland,” he said, gesturing toward the overstuffed chair across from the desk.

“You’re worse than an old woman, Eamon.” With little interest Alistair flipped through a few pages before he dropped to the seat. “Give me the short version.”

It wasn’t the grin on Eamon’s face that troubled Alistair; he had seen it on many occasions, but experience hinted at Eamon waiting for the right moment to blindside him.

“Don’t sit there grinning; you remind me of the naughty cat who hunts its owner’s pet bird for sport. My private life is not up for discussion.”

Eamon disagreed; he tutted several times and shook his head. “You have no private life. That’s why you must tread with caution. Cailan is dead and Maric likely, and that means-”

Alistair interrupted Eamon, not wanting to hear any more. “Cailan may be gone, but I must continue the search for Maric.”

“No. You must return to Denerim and claim your birthright.”  Eamon nodded toward the papers. “I’ve prepared the paperwork necessary for the Landsmeet. Sign.”

“The Landsmeet? Are you out of your mind or just on the path to madness? No one has called a Landsmeet in. . .in. . .well, I don’t know how long, but it hasn’t been done in my lifetime.”

Eamon scoffed. “All twenty years of it.”

“Hey!”

“Alistair. We call the Landsmeet in times of change and a wider-reaching impact to all of Ferelden. Maric’s death and your proper succession is such an event. Father insisted.”

The frown on Alistair’s face deepened; Maric wasn’t dead and assuming anything would be ill advised. “We don’t know Maric’s fate. I’ll agree to be Regent, but you’ll act in my stead.”

Eamon stood, shaking his head. “That time is passed. Those papers declare your acceptance of Maric’s death and your birthright. You will assume the rule of Ferelden as her king, Alistair.”

A laugh bubbled out at first, followed by another and another until Alistair’s full amusement filled the study. “Me? King?  Now I know you’re mad. Absolutely raving. Do you know what happens when you make a bastard child a king? I’ve read the storybooks, Eamon! I’d be a bloody target! I’d need a whole army just to watch my back!”

“It’s in your blood Alistair. Your namesake did great things for Ferelden—as will you.”

Alistair couldn’t agree, and he wasn’t about to explain his reasons. “You’ve got the wrong Theirin, Eamon. I’m . . .I’m sorry.” He returned the pages to Eamon’s desk and without a word crossed to the door.

“Alistair, you cannot hide from who you are. Like it or not, you are a Theirin.”

Hands tightened into fists, and Alistair bit back the retort brewing in his thoughts. _Now I’m a Theirin. Now I’m wanted._ He reached for the door latch. “Contrary to Cailan’s edicts, I am a Warden on a quest to find Maric and bring Loghain to justice. When I have completed those tasks, maybe then I’ll see things differently.” Alistair heard Eamon’s sigh.

“This is far more important than you realize. The fate of a nation rests in your hands,” Alistair wasn’t prepared for the strong grip on his shoulder turning him around. “I have seen Maric and Cailan and know what each accomplished and where they failed.” Resting his hands on Alistair’s shoulders, Eamon continued. “Mark my words. You are not burdened by ego or distracted by power. You, Alistair, can succeed where those who came before could not, but to do so, you must put aside everything else and be who you were meant to be.”

For a moment, Alistair couldn’t respond. There was but one answer in his head. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The light shake of his head in disagreement saw Eamon frown in response.

“I recognize the burden, but Ferelden needs you. It’s time to forget this quest and other _distractions;_ sign those papers and do what is best for Ferelden and her people for that is the legacy of the blood in your veins.”

Alistair wasn’t stupid; he picked up on the inflection. Eamon referred to Lisette as a distraction—at least, it seemed such. The slight to her pushed him to speak without reticence. “No Eamon. Not yet. I’m not ready to forget anything and do you want to know why? Because I am _happy_. For once, I'm not begging for attention or looking for recognition beyond being the evil bastard child of Maric Theirin. I am happy.” Placing his hand on the door latch, Alistair glanced over his shoulder. “So if taking on the weight of Ferelden means I have to leave my personal happiness in a trash heap, then I want no part of this so-called legacy.” He didn’t wait for a response, Alistair had his destination set. Confident steps carried him out of the study, Eamon calling after him.

“If you don’t find your father? Then what?”

Turning, Alistair smiled. “I collect Loghain’s head. I’ll return when one task or the other is complete.” Alistair nearly turned away but faced Eamon once again. “I promise we’ll talk. I can’t explain it, but I know I’m meant to finish this quest. Too many have died to see it done.” Alistair’s expression softened. “Will you do me one favor?”

Eamon held back a laugh. “What would you ask of me?”

“Keep Ferelden running; do that. . .that . . .whatever it is you do so well and I swear on my blood, I’ll be back, and ready to take on whatever you can throw at me.”

 

l-l-l

 

Wandering the halls of Redcliffe, Alistair tried to push the conversation aside, thinking on what he’d said. _I am happy. At least, it feels that way and if Lizzy feels the same?_ He finished the thought aloud. “It makes sense. We make sense.” He stopped. “Right?”

Doubt seeped in and nearly turned him away from the guest wing. _Come on, what’s the worst that could happen? The worst?_ Alistair considered all possibilities. Lisette might not want to see him. _After Eamon’s little display I wouldn’t blame her, but I meant it. This must be love. I don’t know what else to call it._

Alistair considered Eamon’s earlier interruption and wondered what might have happened had they been left alone. His heart thudded in his chest. “Easy now. We have to ask the lady first.”  Steps from her chamber door he halted. _Wait a minute. Ask? Ask what? How do I ask anything without causing her to run away in fear?_ A lump caught in his throat _. Or in laughter?_

He knocked without realizing, suddenly aware of the sweat forming on his brow and neck. Silently he began a slow chant to keep him calm. _Youcandothis, youcandothis, youcandothis._  

The door opened and in an instant, Lisette’s face brightened. “You’re here,” she said, before giving him a smile. “I see you survived Eamon intact.”

His nervous laughter seemed a bit too loud. “Yes, well. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He groaned inwardly. _Shut up you fool_!  He inhaled to settle his nerves and the sweet smell of herbal soap filled his senses. It was then Alistair realized Lisette’s hair was still wet. Tiny droplets fell from the ends of her hair, leaving water spots on her large white shirt.

His brow knit together at the familiarity of her clothing, the shoulders hung well past her own, and the arms had been rolled, but still reached her hands. “Is that?” He was almost sure Lisette wore one of his shirts. She’d stepped from the baths only to dress in his clothing? Alistair wiped his brow and quickly lamented calling attention to the sweat beading on his face.

“Are you sweating?”

He let his eyes travel upward as if they could see.  “I. . .it’s a little warm in here.”

Inside the room, Morrigan complained, prompting Lisette to step from their room and into the hall. “Let me walk you to your room.” Lisette linked her arm through his. “I should apologize. I hope Eamon didn’t embarrass you. I know better, it won’t happen again.”

“Wait, you can’t mean that.” Alistair checked the hall for any sign of attendants; he hoped the late hour would give them some privacy. “Lisette, I guess, I really don’t know how else to ask you this.”

“Ask me what?”

“All right. Forget Eamon. Forget what we should do.” He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair, futile efforts to give him more time to find the perfect words, when nothing came to him. Alistair blurted out the first thing he could. “I don’t want to think about what is expected of us—either of us. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but right now, would you spend the night? With me . . .in my room?”

At first, he wondered if he offended, her blank expression concerned him so much, Alistair nearly apologized. And then she did something peculiar. Checking to her right and left, she let her scrutiny linger before meeting his eyes. Lisette lifted herself on her toes and pressed her lips to his before clasping his hand and tugging him away.

Alistair shrugged and allowed her to pull him along. “That’s a yes then, is it?”

Lisette said little else leading him through the corridors. She’d hidden them several times from attendants and house staff wandering the halls. They’d nearly run into the steward, but Lisette pulled Alistair into an alcove hiding behind him.

The overeager steward chatted on; Alistair kept pace with the conversation, not wanting to be rude until Lisette slipped her hand up Alistair’s back and he shivered.

Stepping forward, the steward voiced his concern. “Are you ill, Your Grace?”

A silent curse for engaging the man left him little choice but to lie. Alistair waved the concern away and insisted fatigue had settled in him. “A little rest and I’ll be fine, thank you for your concern.” He pointed toward the end of the hall; his room within sight of their conversation.

“Shall I have the kitchen prepare something for you, Your Grace?”

He plastered a smile to his face. “Oh no, there’s no need for a fuss.” Alistair hoped the steward hadn’t picked up on the forced joviality. “Really, I’m fine. Or will be.”

It took another minute for the steward to agree and move on. Once out of sight, Alistair and Lisette rushed through the hall. “I thought he’d never stop,” Lisette gave a final look over Alistair’s shoulder before giving him a light push into his room.

Even before the door latched, she’d apologized. Lisette’s hand rested on his chest, her fingertips tracing an unknown pattern against the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t know how even the lightest touch of her fingers left a mark on the skin beneath. “I know I should leave; there is little room left for such things once you assume responsibilities for Ferelden.”

Alistair shook his head. “Right now, it’s just us. That is, if you want.” Silent prayers filled his thoughts, hoping he’d not mistaken the signs.

“You would give your affections to a tinker?”

His hand against her cheek, Lisette closed her eyes and sighed. Alistair leaned closer, his lips near hers. “I would. And you, my dear. Would you give your affections to one such as me?”

“Only to you,” she whispered.

His lips hovered a moment more before they kissed. It wasn’t their first by any means, but as it deepened, they shifted into one another; a closeness so perfect Alistair held Lisette as firm as he dared—not wanting the connection to end, but knowing it must. It was she who guided him deeper into the room.

He felt compelled to assure her of his experience but decided against it. There had been others, Wardens he’d known but none carried the weight of emotion filling each breath with Lisette. He wanted nothing more than to be for her.

“Would you,” she paused, her face flushed, “say it for me?” She helped him shrug free of his shirt, unsure what she meant.

“Lizzie, I-”

Once more Lisette rested her hands on his chest before meeting his eyes. “I shouldn’t be jealous of the hummingbird; it’s a wake word, nothing more. Yet, hearing you. Alistair, please?”

He understood. The greeting woke the tiny bird from its slumber, but for Lisette, it awakened something deeper.  Taking her hands in his with a reassuring squeeze, he lifted them slightly toward his neck. Lisette finished the act and draped her arms around him as he whispered to her. “Hello, beautiful.” The kiss that followed, hungry and wanting, carried them toward the bed.

 

l-l-l

 

He woke content; Lizzy nestled against him, he’d felt different. Something had changed. A minor shift on the bed brought them even closer.

Eyes still closed, Lisette sighed. “I love you.”

Alistair allowed the invading smile to grow as it pleased, barely letting her words hang in the air before responding, “And I you.”

She inhaled against him, long and deep. “What happens now?”

He guessed her question to address the immediate; she hoped to understand his plans, but Alistair couldn’t yet face the responsibilities waiting for him and he answered in an entirely different direction. “We stay together; no matter what.” He’d meant every word, it had nothing to do with their night together, of that Alistair was certain. He’d felt it before, but never as strongly. Being together felt natural; it was something Dela had told him.

 _“Love is rare and precious.”_  Dela’s words rang true, but with Lisette? They’d had to overcome far more to reach this point, and if they could weather such difficulties, Alistair believed with Lisette at his side he could face any obstacle.

Her fingers traced a path along his skin; with hesitance, she patted him several times, a strange placating gesture. “You can’t promise something like that,” she said, “let’s _hope_ we have that option.”

Alistair’s certainty carried in a lingering kiss on her forehead. “We will. There’s always a way.”

“Alistair, there are obligations and expectations and you may have to consider an alliance through marriage. I have nothing to offer you. I may be a Cousland, but you must understand. I cannot stand in the way—no matter my personal desires.” She nestled her head against him.

“Obligations and expectations,” he muttered, “sounds positively wretched. Believe me when I say I'd gladly trade all those things for what I really want.”

She shook her head. “Alistair, maybe before all of this had happened, if my father were,” she stopped. “My name is hardly enough Alistair, I have no home, no family.”

Alistair shifted away to face her, meeting her eyes he quieted his voice. “We’re in this together, my dear. I’ve never truly had a home, until now. Home is wherever _you_ are.”

Lisette shifted on the mattress, her lips finding his before she spoke. “I feel the same way.”


	24. On the Wyvern's Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time at Redcliffe has ended. Alistair and his companions make ready to take to the skies in search of Loghain.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve smiled,” Leliana called out from her climb up the rigging.  “Care to share?” Separated by a far distance, Alistair answered her to prevent any additional shouting.

“No, not really.”

He heard a rich laugh behind him and Cullen’s form rose into view. The inspection of the Hero, her lines and sails moved far faster with all of them helping one another. Alistair thought to shift the attention from him and seeing Cullen join them, he hoped to avoid talking about himself. Rumors had placed Cullen and Lia taking in a few private strolls and spending a fair amount of time in each other’s company. _If I can shift Leliana’s attention, maybe I won’t have to say much more._

“Why not ask Cullen how he spent the time at Redcliffe? Far more interesting than my exploits—or lack thereof.” A quick glance saw Cullen shake his head with a slight cringe.

Leliana tugged on a few lines, her eyes focused heavenward while testing the ropes. “A valiant effort to dissuade me, but!” She tugged once more and with a satisfied nod slid down the rope nearly level with him. “Cullen knows better than to try to hide things from me. I already know everything.”

From behind Alistair Cullen coughed. “Everything I was willing to discuss.”

She waved his clarification away. “Yes, yes. I’m not looking for details. Call it,” she paused giving Alistair a grin, “confirmation, if you will. So, care to share?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he released the harness lock. “If there are no concerns, it’s time we cast off and head out.” He flashed a smile before sliding out of view,  Leliana’s laughter following him to the deck.

The next task wouldn’t be so easy. In order to decide where to look for Loghain, they’d all need to agree. Dela believed Loghain likely hid in Gwaren or even Denerim, but Firand insisted Loghain hadn’t left central Ferelden, certain their target lurked about the skies nearby.

Alistair didn’t need to wait for Leliana and Cullen, neither wanted to weigh in on the matter, both prepared to follow Alistair’s lead.  He didn’t mind suggestions; it really didn’t matter which of his companions led them in the right direction.

Entering the large cabin, four argued at varying volumes. Dela lead the argument, attempting to hold control of the meeting with sharp words and an even sharper tone. Morrrigan didn’t match her volume, but by the look of utter disgust, she did not approve. Taking in the scene, Alistair’s attention fell on Firand; loudest of all he added a few pounds of his fist against the table for emphasis.

Only one remained silent, and no matter Dela’s assurances, Isabella’s presence troubled him. She stared as he walked in.

“Hello little princeling,” Isabella’s smugness soured Alistair’s good mood in minutes. “I was just saying how we should wait for you.”

Morrigan scoffed and with a raised brow questioned Dela. “Must we endure these games? ‘Tis a strange thing to have a pirate allowed aboard.” When Isabella rested her hand atop Morrigan’s, she snapped. “Try that but once more, and you will find the offending hand missing.”

“Oh kitten, you are far too serious. It was a gesture of comfort. You might consider a little more sleep and a bit less animosity.”

“You assume far too much. Your gestures are neither welcome nor accepted and I thank you to complete your business and leave this ship.”  

The two squared off, Alistair hoped to avoid a confrontation but Dela took the lead.

“Isabella, you’ll guard the Hero as originally discussed. Keep her within sight.” Dela shoved a folded paper into Isabella’s hands. “For your eyes alone.” Dela’s attention returned to the large map. Isabella said nothing, her questioning eyes falling on Alistair in an uncomfortable silence.

The lack of response or movement from Isabela added to the growing tension, until Alistair tired of it, far more concerned with his destination. He wanted Isabela off his ship. _What was it Eamon always said? Diplomacy and kindness reap a greater reward._ Alistair cleared his throat. “Thank you, Captain, for lending your men, you should prepare to leave within the hour. Your help will be remembered.”

He’d never seen Isabela stunned to silence before. Alistair fought to hide the smile as her sarcastic grin melted, revealing a softer expression. She regarded him for a moment, giving Alistair a slight nod before exiting the cabin and shouting to her men on deck to depart.  The silence hung in the room for a few moments longer until Dela met Alistair’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she quieted her voice. “Morrigan is not entirely wrong, allowing Isabella to remain might work against us. It is not Isabella who concerns me, but I believe she may have one or two in her crew who may be Loghain’s eyes.”

Firand disagreed, he scoffed and leaned on the table before adding his thoughts. “You know what kid? You’re too nice.” He rocked on his heels. “Never trusted pirates, no matter how pretty. I would have told her to go pound stone.” Throwing up his hands, Firand stalked toward the door, Dela calling after him.

“Yes Fir,” Dela said, sarcasm rich through her response, “but no one ever listens to you right?”

  
“You got that right,” he yelled, muttering to himself as he left.

Alistair noted the smile on Dela’s face and his brow furrowed in question. A gentle nod from her preceded a sigh. “A little patience is needed with Firand, but you will find his loyalty never wavers.”

“Except when it comes to Maric,” Alistair offered. “He doesn’t seem to care much at all for him.”   

A weak excuse from Morrigan carried her from the room leaving Alistair with Dela. Not wanting to push, he waited for Dela to answer. “Alistair, I loved your father. I still do. Others had far different experiences with him and it is likely the view of Maric will never change. Even Duncan had to be reminded of the oaths he’d taken.”

Alistair frowned. “I doubt that.” Duncan had never spoken ill of Maric or Cailan. “He corrected me far often than he should have had to. Why, I remember telling Duncan I wanted to change my name, and he lectured me for no less than four hours on the importance of who I was. So, forgive me, but I don’t believe you.” He stopped. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

Where Alistair expected judgment, he found peace. “No, you _should_ defend Duncan. Never was there a man so deserving of honor and respect.” She sighed. “He was a thief, you know.” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “The Crows had sought to recruit him, but Duncan admitted to his failure and simply waited to be caught.”

“Why?”

A pointed gesture toward Alistair punctuated Dela’s story. “Why indeed? He’d failed to retrieve the targetpiece; no one knew it but him. So why wait?”

Alistair shook his head. “I . . .it doesn’t make sense.”

Dela paced as she spoke. “Exactly. And I asked him why. Do you know what he said?” She didn’t wait for Alistair to answer. “He claimed a revelation struck him in the study. All he had to do was remove a breastplate and secret it away, but the Grey Warden breastplate hanging over the mantle spoke to him. At first, I thought he must have been mad, sharing that fact with me. Any other man I would have backed away slowly and never approached him again, but not Duncan. Can you guess why?”  

Alistair could guess, he’d come across Duncan’s determination and convictions on so many occasions, either seemed logical. The Wardens purpose had changed with the Ages. No threat of demons or darkspawn had diminished their worth, but not in Duncan’s eyes. Whoever they were before mattered little. The Wardens served following the simplest of edicts.

Alistair’s posture straightened, his shoulders settled and in a low voice he spoke. “In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.”

Dela nodded. “It wasn’t the plate that spoke to him, but the motto underneath it. Something in those words touched Duncan’s soul and, in that moment, he found purpose.” Joining Alistair where he stood, Dela rested her hand on his shoulder. “I see the same in you.”

“And Maric?” Alistair couldn’t let it go. He wanted to understand.

“Maric could never see beyond himself, except when it came to Ferelden.” She turned, rubbing her arms. “If it could benefit him, or Ferelden? He would have turned on any one of us, and we all knew it. Maric could be selfish, petty and even arrogant if it suited him. Any one of those traits can appear as disloyalty to those closest to you, but Maric often tried to diffuse confrontation with ill-timed humor or ridiculous gifts.”

Alistair’s memory took him to any number of gifts from Maric, each one more extravagant than the previous until he was sent to the Wardens. Dela scratched her head and shrugged. “Although, I’m not much better. I left you with Eamon and tried to make up for my absence with an airship.” 

The bitterness of his childhood threatened to take hold in the conversation, but it wasn’t time. Dwelling now on the things he could not change served no one. “The Arl and Eamon were good to me. Duncan helped me find a calling and now we move onward.”

A quick glance revealed the hint of tears in her eyes. “Spoken with diplomacy and respect. You could tell me to _pound stone_ as Firand put it, and I wouldn’t blame you at all.”  

Pushing Dela away wouldn’t change the past. “I seem to be losing family in a rather spectacular fashion. It might be a good idea for you to stay close.” Still unconvinced Maric lay unreachable; he’d need Dela’s help once they found him. In truth Alistair hadn’t seen Maric in years; he doubted any rapport existed between them, but it was more than the search for Maric. With Dela, he had a family again.

Leaving Redcliffe felt different and although Alistair couldn’t quite explain exactly what had changed, he felt lighter in some ways. This only underscored the danger he would face and more importantly ask those around him to shoulder the burden along with him.

Ferelden would survive; guided by Eamon’s gifts for diplomacy and subtleties. None yet knew of Alistair’s impending ascension, and Eamon could keep it that way. Alistair refused to entertain any thoughts of the future until he’d located the missing pirate.

Crisp winds and an increasing chill signaled the Hero’s rise into the clouds. Alistair had stood alone on the forecastle; his eyes stared through the cloud cover, near to willing his adversary to show himself.

 _Loghain is far too cautious_ , he thought, _if only it were that easy._

Alistair heard the casual scuff of boots behind him and turned. It had to be one of his companions, any of the deckhands would have addressed him first.

Lia settled on her feet, her long black coat flapped once as her hands rested on her hips. “I’ve tried that you know.” A sheepish smile grew with each step closer. “That bastard won’t appear on a wish.”

“Is that right?” Alistair shrugged. “It was worth at least one attempt, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess.” Her expression wavered. “Cullen already told me not to ask, but-”

Lifting a single brow, Alistair’s silent question halted Lia’s speech for a moment. Whatever composure she had carried into the conversation left as she shook her head.

“I thought you would understand. You—more than anyone—I need to find him. Me.”  
  
"Lia, I'm not quite following. Could we," he paused, "could we start maybe not from the beginning, but from where this starts to make more sense?"

She exhaled. Lia paced back and forth a few times before she stopped and raised her finger as though she had a point to make, but then said nothing. Uncertain how to help, Alistair offered the obvious.

“This is about Loghain, right?”

She nodded. “When we find him? I want,” she stopped and tapped her forehead with her fingers before looking at Alistair. “I would ask that Loghain be given to me, to take back to Antiva. He needs to answer for the deaths of my brother and his men.”

Before Alistair could respond, Cullen intervened. He kept his voice low, but Cullen’s attention remained fixed on Lia, even as she pulled away from him. A half-hearted apology offered, Lia left the two as she stalked away.

“It means little I’m sure, but Lia-”

Alistair shook his head. “No explanation needed, my friend. I will try to honor her request.”

A quick word of thanks should have ended the conversation, but Cullen remained still.  “Regardless of,” he paused glancing over his shoulder, “well regardless, your goals are mine. I wanted you to know.”

“Cullen do what is right for you,” Alistair’s attention returned to the clouds. “I’m still unsure what my goals are; it’s more than possible I have no idea what I am doing and have put us all at risk.”

 

l-l-l

 

For hours, Alistair kept watch. Each of his companions attempted conversation, but none succeeded. Lisette tried only once; any subsequent visits she stood next to him, clasping his hand and saying nothing. He appreciated her presence most of all; expecting nothing from him, it gave Alistair a few moments to breathe easy even if his thoughts and heart raced with her near.

The third time she joined him, Alistair wasn’t as willing to let go. The skies had darkened with dusk looming, and with no sign of Loghain, he’d have to concede to the night. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

Lisette hummed in response, her hand squeezing his.

Alistair didn’t stop. “The thing is, I want to find Maric and not for the reasons everyone seems to think. I don’t know him. A few scattered memories, none of them happy, but that’s all I have of my father.”  He sighed. “I don’t know if I can be like Cailan. What if I make mistakes?”

“Then you make mistakes and correct them.” Shifting her body to face him, Lisette grabbed his other hand and held both tight within hers. “Look around you. These men believed in you so much, they continued to follow you even after the Ostagar was lost. They look to you Alistair. You.” She laughed and shook her head as her speech continued. “You’re a leader. You can and will lead Ferelden.”

He disagreed. “How can you be so sure?”

“Ferelden is no different from the Hero. Sure, it’s a much larger ship in a way with even more crew, but you will do well.” Lisette slipped one hand free and traced a quick path along his jawline.  “I believe in you.”

Had they been anywhere in private, he would have kissed her for any number of reasons, but their place on deck carried far too many curious onlookers. He had to settle for words instead. “Have I told you how wonderful you are?”

She laughed.

“I’ll take that as a no, my dear and so please allow me. You are wonderful, and I hope you realize how much I-”

The ship’s bell rang in rapid bursts warning all hands to danger. A shout behind them carried the news. Loghain’s ship neared. 

Alistair raised Lisette’s hand to his lips giving her fingers a light kiss. “Get below, stay out of sight and signal Isabela.”

“Don’t go,” Lisette blocked the way with her body. Arms outstretched, she stood almost daring him to move her.

Sweat traveled down his back, stress and concern working its way through him. Alistair cleared his throat. “I won’t die if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Lisette blinked several times; her blank stare saying far more than words could. The deck hands asked for direction, waiting on Alistair’s orders, but he refused to instigate the fight. “Do nothing but prepare yourselves.”

The orders carried across the deck, Alistair’s attention returned to Lisette.  “Listen.” He paused and pointed out the lack of noise. “Loghain isn’t attacking, maybe he wants to talk. It’s a risk, I know.” Alistair’s justifications were as much for his benefit as for Lisette; part of him understood he likely walked into a trap, but on the off chance the truce proved real? Ending this with minimal bloodshed and Maric returned safely might be worth the potential danger.

Her hand moved to the rose pendant hanging at her neck. Alistair had given it to her in Redcliffe. “Be careful,” she said before hurrying away from him.

 _Be careful_ , he repeated silently. _Good advice. It’s a shame you’re about to do something really stupid,_ he thought, hurrying toward the main cabin. Dela and Firand spoke in a huddle nearby; her raised hand acknowledged Alistair, but her raised index finger asked for a few moments.

Lia paced; her agitation and mounting anger rolling in waves with each pass. If her behavior troubled Cullen he gave no sign, taking the time to check his equipment and even run through several elemental exercises.

Standing apart from the rest, Morrigan met Alistair’s eyes and nodded once; a sign to him she waited ready for whatever they might face. Only Leliana approached without hesitation, pushing through Cullen and Lia to lead Alistair aside. “Give the word and I will climb into the rigging.” She checked her wrist crossbow. “I can make it a clean kill, and no one will know who fired the fatal shot.”

 If Alistair considered the offer, he might solve one part of the problem, but what of Maric? He needed Loghain alive to find Maric, of that Alistair was sure.  
  
One deckhand approached calling Alistair’s attention.  “Ser, you’re not going to believe this!”

 “What is it?”

 The man pointed out beyond the Hero’s port side. “It’s the Wyvern, Ser! It’s Loghain’s ship, and she’s flying a white flag!”

 No one spoke at first until Firand broke the silence. “Well kid, now what?”


	25. The Weight of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair waits to meet with Loghain, but the meeting raises more questions and has an irrevocable impact on one of those gathered.

Alistair would follow the rules of engagement; gather at a neutral point and listen to Loghain’s terms. The spires above Orzammar would serve best, Loghain would never risk his alliances with the dwarves to gain the advantage over Alistair.

“Wishful thinking,” Alistair muttered. He’d decided to wear his Warden uniform. Cailan’s dark green colors seemed more fitting; a reminder of Loghain’s treachery. “You don’t agree with this meeting, do you?” He spoke to Lisette’s reflection in the mirror.

“No. I would see you take his life. My father and your brother demand it be done,” her voice quieted, “along with so many others.” 

“I know.”

She sighed before rising to cross the room. “But you’ll honor the truce.”

A part of him wanted nothing more than to end Loghain’s life. He’d imagined so many scenarios, each a humiliating defeat for Loghain. “You’re right you know. He should die. He will pay for what he’s done. What if Loghain has Maric or can lead us to him? Wouldn’t you rather Maric lead Ferelden?”

Lisette’s grip on Alistair’s arm dug her fingers tight against him. “When are you going to accept who you are?”

Frustration answered for him. “I’m getting a little tired of this. I’m a Warden. A criminal—remember? The reason I stand here a Warden was to protect the Theirin line from my contamination of it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not quite willing to forget all that and suddenly be the grand hero of Ferelden.” She recoiled, and for a moment his face reflected remorse and sadness. “Oh, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I’m not angry with you.”

“Are you sure, because it I heard something more than a little angry.” An absent check of her surroundings and an offhand comment about the engine room sent her scurrying out leaving Alistair alone.   

“Wonderful. Brilliant work, Alistair,” his frustration fueled rant continued. “Shall we walk the deck and see who else we might upset before we dock?” From outside the cabin, deckhands shouted to clear the deck and a heavy impact shook the beams beneath his feet.  “Lovely. My favorite construct has joined the party,” he sighed in exasperation. “Maker’s Breath, can I have one day?”

Shayle’s voice entered his head _.  I am rather bored. Is there someone I could eat or maim to pass the time?_

 _Yes, me._ Alistair didn’t dare speak; he doubted Shayle had any concept of sarcasm from others. “Although it has quite the grasp of sarcasm on the whole.”

_Of course I understand sarcasm. It may be a difficult concept for you to understand, but I am no idiot._

Alistair burst from the cabin, stalking toward the clockwork dragon. “Did you just. . .did you call me an idiot?”

_Well, no, but if that is what you understood, then by all means assume away. Shall I explain? I will use small words so as not to confuse._

The expletive nearly fell from his lips, but Alistair recognized those around him might take offense. No one else could hear Shayle’s words. To save what little remained of Alistair’s reputation and sanity, he delivered his request. “I would like you to take to skies when I meet with Loghain. Should you notice anything untoward, any movement of men toward the Hero or her crew, then I leave those foolish enough to try to your whims.”

The construct nodded and grey smoke puffed free of the dragon’s snout. Alistair guessed it to be some response on the part of the construct, but when Shayle’s voice took on an overly pleased tone, he knew. “To my whims? Are you sure? I have such ideas! Many of which might be frowned upon, but with your permission?”

Alistair nodded. “It is yours. See no harm comes to the Hero and her crew.”

_And who watches that no harm will come to you?_

“The crew and ship are your priority. If anything happens to me,” a nervous chuckle accompanied his words, “well, let’s not think about that quite yet. Are you able to stay airborne? Do you need to rest?”

_No, I need not rest and can remain hidden until I am needed. Although the boredom is a minor issue, perhaps there are small towns and villages I might harass to pass the time._

Alistair raised both hands toward Shayle. “No! Don’t do that.” The dragon shook its head and Alistair swore he heard what could only be described as a laugh. _Wonderful_ , he thought. _Even the bloody dragon has to get cheeky._ With a sigh Alistair stood back allowing Shayle to leave the deck. His mood darkened realizing he still had to apologize properly to Lisette. _It’s your fault, you fool. You couldn’t stay quiet and had to push back. To her of all people._   “Maybe the dragon wasn’t too far off. You certainly can be quite the idiot.”

Nearby, a soft cough caught his attention, finding Morrigan leaning against the outer cabin wall. “While you may believe I dislike you for various reasons, perhaps consider how far you have come before condemning yourself so readily. ‘Tis a curious thing—destiny; for most, it merely appears waiting and ready to be embraced, with little to no concern for the one who must face it. Such is the plight of the hero, Alistair; the one who must be dragged off—in many cases head first to follow his chosen path.” She held up her hand in anticipation of his response. “And yes, ‘tis your path we follow, not another’s.”

She held his surprise for a moment more and then nodded once before leaving. It took a few more seconds for Alistair to find his voice. “Thank you!” He called after her, still unsure why Morrigan chose this moment to voice her support. “Unless she knows something will go wrong, but it couldn’t be that, right?” His question went unanswered, lost in the ship’s bell announcing their arrival at Orzammar.

Dela emerged from the hold and joined him. “Are you ready?”

“You want the truth, I suppose.”

She smiled patting his arm. “Yes, the truth is always preferred, unless you wish to appear brave; in which case, you should lie, but know I think I have developed a rather intuitive sense for lies.”

“Since you put it that way, then no. I am most definitely not ready and want it known this is one of the stupidest ideas ever.” He exhaled as Dela leaned closer. “Maybe that was a bit more truth than you wanted.”  
  
“Courage, Alistair. Think on it this way,” she said shifting to face him. “You’ve two Templars, one a mage of some skill. There are two mages ready to set the nearest foe aflame to protect you, and three more airships loaded with pirates waiting on your word to attack.” She smiled before taking a deep breath. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a not so easily corrupted dragon construct circling above us likely waited to come to your aid. In short, what could possibly go wrong?”

 

l-l-l

The location chosen for the meeting had been out in the open; one of the tallest buildings rising from Orzammar would keep its citizens blissfully unaware of the tense meeting taking place high above.   Cullen and Lia insisted on accompanying Alistair; neither willing to allow him to wait unguarded.  

The first time Alistair saw the tall spires peeking through steam plumes the sight had thrilled him. Less than two weeks had passed, but stepping out onto the rooftop, the view had no effect; his chest tightened, uncertainty and tension his silent companions on this trip.

Walking through the darkened corridors, Alistair had ignored the conversation. Firand had complained nearly every step, but Alistair took the time to run through any number of scenarios and how he might respond. He inhaled and held his breath for a moment before his noisy exhale broke through Firand’s commentary.

“If you want to throw up kid, do it now.”

“Would it help?”

Firand shrugged. “I doubt it.” He moved closer to Alistair. “You’ll be all right. Don’t take any shit and watch your back.” Firand glanced toward Cullen and Lia. “Better still.” He raised his voice. “If you two can stop batting your eyes at one another long enough, maybe you’ll be useful.”

Cullen’s strangled denial forced Alistair to turn away, pressing his lips together. _Leave it to Firand to ease the tension through embarrassment._ Alistair had to get Firand to leave before he completely distracted the three from their task.

Reassurances given, Firand reminded Alistair of Orzammar’s rules; a neutral party would appear to guarantee both he and Loghain adhered to the city’s terms for hosting their meeting. With a final wave, Firand left them to prepare.

“So now what?” Alistair shielded his eyes from the sun as he searched the clouds. “I half expected Loghain to beat us here.”  Alistair wasn’t alone in his expectations of an early arrival; the empty rooftop a surprise to all.

“Are we early?”

Lia answered while checking the readiness of her weapons, a quick lift of her sword saw it quickly returned to its sheath. “No. This is another of Loghain’s tricks,” she said, stashing one pistol and grabbing another. She peered down the long edge; pulling the hammer back and then setting it right once more. “He will make an entrance and in the process, imply he has control.”

“I don’t like this at all,” Cullen added. “It’s far too exposed.”

 _I need to hear him out, and nothing more._ Alistair hoped his face looked as blank as he needed it to be; giving away too much might hurt any one of them.

It was Lia who approached Alistair. A firm grip and a stern expression had the desired effect.

“Lia, I am capable of handling this, but just the same, your help is appreciated.”

A quick glance at Cullen met with widening eyes. “Lia, give the man some space.”

She shifted her body to block Cullen and shrugged. Lowering her voice to a whisper she winked at Alistair. “He’s rather bossy, but all I’ll say is this: if anything turns foul? I’ll take Loghain down. You worry about yourself, all right?”

Alistair heard Cullen’s exasperation and tried not to smile, but tried to match her tone. “It’s always the quiet ones,” he said. “As for our soon to be guest, let’s hope his manners are a sight better than we expect.” He pulled on his shirt collar, surprised how warm the ambient air was despite their high position; Alistair lamented the heavy suit and waistcoat burdening him and wondered if he should shed his coat.

Noting his discomfort, Lia nodded toward the city proper. “It’s the mines and refineries. What you’re feeling is the exhaust, and I’m afraid it won’t get any better. You’d be better off without the coat, but keep it on.” She scanned the surrounding area. “There’s enough bulk there to offer some protection, we still can’t trust there are others nearby.”

Shayle’s voice spoke only two words, but it proved enough to rattle Alistair’s nerves.

_He comes._

A sharp exhale cleared Alistair’s worry. “Shayle sees Loghain. Here we go.”

_To your right. A rope ladder nears._

Directions relayed to his companions, Alistair closed his eyes for a moment and steadied his breathing. _Don’t let him take control._

An airship broke through the steam and cloud cover with a rope ladder dangling on one side. A lone figure descended the rungs as the ship neared Alistair’s position. Despite the sounds above from the airship and the shouts of the men aboard it, Alistair could hear Cullen’s calm voice repeating a single word.  “Steady.”  He assumed it was meant for Lia, but the reassurance and repetition helped Alistair to reach a state of calm just before Loghain’s boot touched the rooftop.

As promised, Loghain arrived unarmed and without escort, forcing Alistair to send Cullen and Lia away. Loghain’s steeled glare remained fixed on Alistair as he paced; his steps almost impossibly slow, Alistair believed it was meant to annoy, rather than convey impatience. 

As soon as his companions retreated, an armor clad dwarf appeared from the exit. “You are guests of the city and are expected to behave accordingly. Before we can allow this meeting to commence, you will submit to a search of your person. If you will not, you will leave.”

Alistair agreed immediately, his eyes fixed on Loghain. Forced to submit first, Loghain show no sign of annoyance as he removed his long waistcoat. Alistair found it curious that a pirate dressed more like a noble one might see in the streets of Denerim.  His suit cut to fit, and the pinstriped pattern akin to the dress expected for a formal audience. _Loghain is playing a role_ , Alistair thought, _one expressly for my benefi_ t.

Once the dwarf declared both clean of weapons, he left leaving the two to their discussion. Loghain stared at Alistair with the same expression of someone smelling an odor most foul. “Young Alistair.” The laugh that erupted carried with it such disdain, Alistair resisted the urge to levy a few rude comments toward his adversary. “Our new. . . ruler. Or something quite akin to one of course. We must find _daddy_ first now, mustn’t we?”

_I could simply eat him, you know._

Alistair tried to focus.

_It would only take a moment._

Fists balled, Alistair shouted. "Would you _please_ shut up!"

_Fine. For now I will remain quiet._

Loghain's forehead creased and a smug grin traveled across his face. "You seem a bit distracted. Perhaps a  rest? I fear all this nonsense has vexed your young mind."

“I do not need a rest!” Alistair had to ignore Shayle and salvage his position.  “ _You’re_ the cause of all this misery. The Couslands? Cailan? Duncan and the Ostagar? Return Maric and prepare to face the consequences of your actions.”

“How touching. The bastard child rises to the top on the blood of others. Quite the story isn’t it? What more will you do to take that which is not rightly yours?”

“Careful Loghain, you forget the proof of your conspiracy and treachery waits to tell all.” Eamon still held one of the traitors who facilitated Cailan and Duncan’s death.

Feigned shock from Loghain raised a single brow. Alistair knew whatever words fell next were steeped in falsehoods.

“Lies!” Loghain’s hand moved to his chest. “To suggest that I would ever perpetrate such a heinous act.” His expression softened. “Your father was my friend and the two of you his dearest offspring.”

 _Was_ , Alistair thought, _he said Maric was his friend_. Alistair considered questioning Loghain on his choice of words, but guessed it another ploy. Refusing to play Loghain’s game, Alistair pressed on. “Where is Maric?”

A feigned or practiced smile answered Alistair. “Haven’t a clue, or at least not at the moment. I lack proper motivation to search my memory. That’s where you come in, boy.” 

The disrespect set Alistair’s jaw. “Your Grace. Say it and mean it, Loghain. That’s where you come in. . . _Your Grace_.”

The clenched jaw and strained neck muscles in the older man revealed Alistair had found a wound. He waited in the tense silence, but when Loghain still said nothing, Alistair felt a shift in his confidence.

“I’m waiting. Disrespect me but once more and not only will this meeting end, but you’ll find company with the murderers you hired.”

An exaggerated bow and flourish answered first. “Of course, forgive me.” Loghain’s dark eyes held Alistair. “Your Grace.”

“Better, but you can work on it. Where is Maric?”

Loghain tutted in response. “You see, that is not how negotiation works. Allow me to explain.” He touched his chest. “I search for something Maric claimed he owned and left in the care of his,” he glared at Alistair, “offspring.” 

“I have nothing of Maric’s.” Alistair regretted sending Lia and Cullen away, he was near convinced allowing Lia her revenge would be far better than listening to Loghain’s tedium.

“You see. I don’t believe you. Maric had no reason to lie, none at all.” Loghain paced. “You will deliver the anvil to me and once done, I will reveal where your _beloved_ father waits.” 

_Alistair. You must not agree. What he asks for does not exist._

Shayle’s words carried with it a hurried caution, but Alistair had to know more. “I don’t know what the anvil is, where do I find it?”

Loghain nearly doubled over with haughty laughter. “Don’t lie, _boy_! That elf woman you call your mother?” Spittle flew from his lips as Loghain’s words grew angrier. “That simple-minded girl and father built creatures and there you sit oblivious to their true plans!” Loghain threw his arms wide. “Whoever holds the crown of the paragon and the anvil of the void will reign over the constructs! I seek to stop you and your bloodline from soiling Ferelden with these _abominations_!”

Lia and Cullen called out to Alistair their approaching footsteps and shouts for his safety met with more scorn from Loghain, but Alistair understood none of Loghain’s ranting. “He’s raving mad,” Alistair shouted. “Something about an anvil and a crown, but he knows where Maric is, I’m sure of it.”

Lia stepped forward pulling out a long pistol. “Then we take him with us.”

For a moment, fear flashed across Loghain’s face; his head swiveling back and forth. Alistair sure Loghain searched for the ladder and his escape.  Lia took aim and pulled the hammer back.  “I won’t kill him.”

“No!” Alistair had seconds to react, running toward his target. It took a second to realize he’d chosen the wrong option. Standing before Loghain, Alistair stretched out his arms as the gun fired. 


	26. The Shadow of Greatness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair leaves the memories of the past behind him to focus on his journey; the Hummingbird's push west and north reveals Lisette likely outside of Ferelden borders. On the way to Llomerryn, a night's rest brings the remembrance of the Landsmeet and Lisette's departure.

Clockwork Age, Year Five, 10th Kingsway

 

Memory and a sudden pain caused Alistair to reach for his shoulder; no less than four on deck raced to his side. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, the darkening skies and concerned faces reminded Alistair of his task. Lisette was somewhere out there, and already he’d spent too much time dwelling on the past.

Repeated questions centering on his well-being set his teeth on edge; he tried to dissuade with assurances nothing was wrong. “I’m fine; please don’t trouble yourself.”  Loud and hurried footsteps in his direction nearly pulled a groan as Alistair soon felt the imposing presence of his personal guard.

“Your Grace?” The connotation carried in Lia Rutherford’s tone held concern without saying more. “Should I be concerned, Ser?”

A quick shake of his head answered her, but the added voice of Cullen coaxed a sigh from Alistair.

“We have the opportunity to rest, Your Grace.  Consider it—for the both of you.”  Cullen nodded toward a flash of gold and silver resting on Alistair’s opposite side, the small hummingbird rubbing its head against his neck.

“Oh, I’m perfectly all right, little one.” Glancing at the faces of his friends, Alistair conceded. “If it will make all of you happy and stop this hovering, then fine. I will rest.” He grumbled through his complaint walking away. “I got a little lost in a memory and suddenly I’m old and feeble.” He shouted over his shoulder. “We’re the same bloody age, you know!” 

“He’s fine. A little crankier than usual, but fine.” Alistair chuckled to himself hearing Lia’s reply.

They had followed the hummingbird at a pace the small bird could compensate for without confusing its mechanisms. Reaching the leading edge of the Storm Coast, Alistair stopped at the engine room and ordered the crew to the dock near Highever, if he would rest, so would all hands. The bird had kept a near steady pace towards the west, the slight shift northward may have been a sign of confusion. It was better to stop than speculate. He'd not quite promised to visit Dela in Llomerryn, despite her insistence, but if the hummingbird needed care, Dela's careful eyes would be welcome. 

His cabin left a sense of loneliness in the air; stark and bare save for a few minor trinkets, all of it a reminder of the missing part of him for several years. _That was when everything changed. The search for that cursed anvil and what it might mean._ Alistair held out his hand.

“Come here, little one.” He waited until the bird hopped from his collar and hovered over his hand before it rested. “Now I know it’s silly to think you need to sleep, but we’ll pretend—just this once. You’ll keep me company, if that’s all right.” The hummingbird blinked several times the gears in its body and neck whirring away.

For a moment Alistair was certain his eyes might tear thinking on Lisette. A part of her rested within the hummingbird. It was all he had—the bird, and a letter dated two years prior. Panic filled his chest at the thought he might have forgotten to bring the now frayed pages. Her words had kept him going during her absence. Placing the hummingbird gently in its cage, he hurried to the pack he’d given Cullen to stash on board, dumping its contents out on his bed.

Tucked beneath a few articles of clothing he saw the light beige envelope and exhaled in relief. The letter said little, but it carried Lisette’s essence much like the clockwork bird. Two years had passed since the letter arrived in Denerim, Lisette’s apologetic words and promises to return scribbled in flowing prose and carefully chosen words.

Fear of corruption drove her away from him to seek the truth. Despite his pleas and objections, Lisette would not rest until she could be sure of the anvil’s destruction. Alistair spoke to the room even knowing he was alone. “She couldn’t let it go. Loghain’s madness over the anvil infected her thoughts.”

The Griffin wouldn’t sail until morning. Her bell tolled in an even pattern; Alistair counting each ring. “Eight bells and all’s well.” He nodded sliding onto the mattress. “End of day, little one,” Alistair said, pushing away his melancholy. “I hoped we’d find her in Ferelden, but you wanted to keep heading west.” He sighed. “Off to Llomerryn first, and then,” he exhaled, a gentle tone finishing his one-sided conversation, “we bring her home.”

Alistair’s fitful rest offered no relaxation; his thoughts raced with concocted conversations of Lisette shying away from him and ending any hope of reuniting. Hours before dawn he woke deciding it better to remain busy on deck over slugging through his concern and anxiety.

The Griffin rested on her dock above Highever; securing in the slip, those on night watch took in the clear skies and chilled pre-dawn air. Alistair raised a hand in greeting as he walked the deck, but a familiar figure toward the bow caught his attention. Lia wrapped her long waist coat around her, flipping her dark hair from the collar. She’d not left Alistair with Lisette, but Alistair suspected her loyalty solidified by Cullen’s determination to remain. They’d married a year after Lisette left, and their union had softened Lia’s often demonstrative behavior. He smiled thinking on the number of times both she and Cullen raced to his aid only to find him arguing with himself.  _What does Lia call it?_ He scratched his chin trying to remember her gentle tease. _Right_ , he thought _, she calls it my special brand of crazy._

Pausing, Alistair wondered if Lia might not welcome his interruption, but she turned and faced him; surprise captured her face at first, quickly melting in a soft smile of recognition. “Can’t sleep, Your Grace?”

Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he hated the title. “At this hour are titles necessary?”

“Maybe not,” she said. She quieted her voice. “Are you all right? How’s the,” she paused nodding toward his shoulder. “Any more pain?”

“No, it comes and goes, who knows what set it off this time.”

A loud sigh and slight caving of her shoulders turned her toward the railing once more. “I’m still not sure why you let me stay after I. . .after I. . .well, you know.”

“Oh!” He nodded, glancing sideways toward her. “After you shot me? Well, you know, what’s a little wound between friends? I hardly remember it at all.”

She laughed.  “You really are the worst liar, but I appreciate the sentiment, but are we? Friends?”  

“Of course, besides, had I sent you away? Well I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

Her face brightened and Lia waved away his words. She blinked a few times and tried not to smile. “Maybe I should work on helping you without causing injury.”

Alistair leaned closer meeting her eyes. “I would appreciate that.” He straightened and used his head to direct her attention aft. Rest; I’m counting you—both of you to help me find Lizzy.”

Lia agreed and rested her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll see her soon enough. I believe it.”  She left him standing at the railing.

He inhaled allowing the frigid morning air to fill his lungs, not out of need, but as an attempt to keep his disbelief and negative thoughts from taking hold.   _I wish I had her confidence. Lizzy changed after Loghain—_

Fists clenched, a shiver took hold of his spine. Alistair tried to push the memory of what happened at the Landsmeet aside; thinking on that night would serve no purpose.  “Loghain is dead. Lia saved my life. There’s nothing more to it.” The oversimplification turned his stomach. _Who am I kidding?_

l-l-l

 

Five years prior. . .

 

Denerim had taken time to acclimate to Alistair; once reviled, her citizens had to decide either to rally around the new regent or call for his resignation. The pageantry and festival atmosphere of the Landsmeet convinced most to at least consider Alistair’s bid, but Eamon’s brilliant marketing campaign of public notices and printed copies of Maric’s wishes and Cailan’s edicts swayed even the most skeptical.

The Geurrin estate had changed over the years once a sprawling castle of at least fifty rooms, and modernization of the city demanded change. Geurrin manor rested in the same location, but more modest, rising three floors complete with automated lifts for those unwilling to walk the intricate staircases.

Alistair’s steady pace carried him up the stairs, much to Eamon’s annoyance. “I will only slow if you keep glaring at me, Eamon.”

Crossing his arms, Eamon raised a single brow. “Then I will only bore you even longer with trivial details. It’s your choice. What will it be? Return to your lady love in less than an hour or a full accounting of the bloodline and Ferelden’s history until sunrise?”

He stopped and returned the glare. “Eamon. You wouldn’t.”

“Oh no?” He tapped his chin. “I’ll begin with Calenhad, at least his life contained a few interesting tidbits among the extensive tales.”   

With little desire to sit through any history lessons, Alistair conceded and hurried up the remaining steps. “Just tell me how to win this thing.”

Eamon led Alistair into a room. Sparse furniture made an oversized fireplace even more imposing, but Eamon insisted they sit and talk. “It’s not enough to win anything Alistair. You need to convince the other families you are more than who they think you are. It falls to you to convince those gathered of one thing.”

He swallowed hard, dreading what he knew Eamon would say. “You want me to convince them I am a Theirin.”

“Yes. I’ve already released every edict and letter to the public and the representatives. The ground work is there. Lady Cousland and Lisette will recount the events of the attack and your heroics. The Proctor from Ferelden’s Tower will speak to your aid and Firand Ortan will attest to your liberation of slaves and his daughter’s rescue.”

“Lia Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford will stand with you on the Gallery floor. I will cite both as acting under your leadership, which from their mouths is no lie. They follow you. You would do well to remember that fact.”

There could be no doubt to their loyalties; both had professed a desire to remain at Alistair’s side in Denerim. Once more the weight of responsibility pulled on his body until he rested his head in his hands. Eamon patted Alistair’s back. “You’ve earned this, in case you’re wondering. I never doubted you’d succeed.”

“You’re wrong. Maric is still missing, and whatever this anvil thing is? What if it’s as evil as Loghain claims?”

Eamon pushed away from the couch and crossed the room. “I think it’s partial truth that turned into legend.”  A few papers littered the desktop and Eamon slid a folder into his hand. “The dwarves called it the Anvil of the Void. King Alistair had written of it a few times.  He had his doubts about the Hero of Ferelden’s plans. Alistair insisted on its destruction in Orzammar, but Aedan Cousland had it moved. I could only find a few references; the parchments were old, it’s possible some were destroyed.”

“Anvil of the Void? Doesn’t that sound ominous? Is there anything in Thedas’ history that carries such a name that wasn’t dangerous?”

Eamon shrugged. “The Shaperate in Orzammar mentioned it a few times, and in conjunction with a creature called a golem.”

“What’s that?”

“I wish I knew.” Eamon returned the papers to the desk. “I’m not giving up quite yet. Firand promised to _crack a few skulls_ , as he put it, when he returned home. It’s definitely something to do with dwarven history.” Eamon shooed Alistair from the room and promised to accompany him in the morning.

The slow walk toward his bedroom gave Alistair time to reflect. _King Alistair. It’s not what I want. Ferelden loved and respected him._ “We have nothing in common but a name.” He scanned the hall, grateful no one heard him speak aloud. _It’s true. Every Ferelden male has been held in comparison to him. Giving me his name only makes it that much worse._ Halting his steps, Alistair rolled his shoulders, straightening as best he could. _You can’t let them see the doubt. With Lizzy, you can do this._

She waited for him in his room; she promised to stay awake all night if necessary. When he reached the door, the sounds of muffled conversation almost caused him to turn around. Instead, he knocked once and waited for a response.

“Alistair is not here, come back later.”

Opening the door, any number of coy or teasing thoughts floated through his head, but when he saw her, Alistair’s mind blanked, wondering why she’d been talking to herself. She wore a half grin, and Lisette waited for him to enter. “Are you coming in or do you plan to stand at the door and stare?”

Her hair sat piled atop her head; she’d stuck two wooden sticks or dowels through her curls to hold in place. For something so simple it fascinated him. “What did you do with your hair?”

Her eyes glanced up as if she could see what caught his attention. “Oh, it was in my way. I found these in a drawer, might be for knitting or even serve no purpose at all. It worked.”  Her face scrunched; tiny wrinkles around the bridge of her nose only made her more endearing to him. “I must look frightful.”

Alistair shook his head and sighed as he answered. “Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Stunning even,” he joined her, taking her hand in his and spinning her around. “And at least a handful more words of admiration and affection I seem to have forgotten.”

“Alistair.”

He guided her in a silent dance; all of his earlier concern melting away in her presence.

“Alistair, please.”  She slipped her hand from his and with a gentle tug pulled away. Confused, his eyes searched her face hoping for an explanation to her reluctance.

“What’s wrong?”

Lisette’s demeanor changed, she appeared to diminish standing across from him. Her shoulders curled in and hands clasped together in front of her, but it was her refusal to meet his eyes that tightened as a knot in his heart. “I can’t stay.”

Brows knit together at the meaning of behind her response. “You can’t stay?” Averting his eyes, Alistair felt the knot in his chest tighten. “What do you mean _you can’t stay_? Lizzy, I need you with me,” he said, his voice faltering, “I. . .please. . .stay.”

He noted a tremble in her chin as she shook her head. “I won’t leave until after the Landsmeet.”

When he’d been shot, the pain had radiated out from the wound for several weeks. He’d needed time to recover. This was infinitely worse. He couldn’t breathe. Lisette’s mouth continued to move, and she spoke, but Alistair heard nothing at all.  In the silence that followed, Alistair was sure his heart had stopped. It wasn’t until he heard the rush of blood in his ears he realized how much her words had wounded him.  

“. . . the anvil. What if Loghain were to find it? I have to fix what my ancestor failed to do.”

Desperation flowed through him. “You know how I feel about you. I won't let you go, not if I can do something about it.” His conversation with Eamon resurfaced, urging Alistair to use all he had heard to dissuade her. “Eamon is researching this anvil. Firand as well, doesn’t it make far more sense to wait until we know where and what we search for and then go after it?” He reached out to her. “Not to mention—you're the best friend I could ever have asked for.”

Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding him. “Why did you say that? Alistair, you must remain here and be who Ferelden needs. I don’t matter.”

“Of course you matter! Lisette, I _love_ you.”

“You needn’t worry. I won’t go alone,” she shifted toward the door, completely ignoring his declaration. “Zee and Morrigan will go with me if I ask.”

Her intention to leave had wounded him, but the mention of Zee and not asking him to join her crushed what little remained of his heart.  “Oh,” he didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.  “I understand.”  Little else remained to be said between them, and Alistair couldn’t force a farewell from his lips so he lied.  “I only stopped to tell you not to wait any longer for me; I need to get back to Eamon. Night.”

Alistair couldn’t be sure if it was Lisette who called after him or just his imagination. There was nowhere to run; the families expected Alistair to speak before them in the morning. If he disappeared now, there was no telling what the impact to Ferelden might be. _I wanted none of this—except for her. It just wasn’t enough._  

The manor had many places he could retreat from view for the night; the library had a few long couches he could rest on if needed. What Alistair wanted more than anything as his heavy steps carried him through the halls was distance, but the more distance he put between them the more hardened his heart grew.

Evening passed and morning followed with no change for Alistair. Quiet steps and silent nods to the manor’s attendants only underscored what waited for him after the Landsmeet and practicing to keep his real feelings hidden from those around him seemed appropriate.  With few words he requested time to bathe and prepare.

Even before the rest of the manor woke, Alistair had returned to the library to wait until called to the gallery. He’d grown accustomed to the quiet since the previous night, and at hearing Cullen’s voice, Alistair stood.

“Alistair? Alistair are you in here?”

Standing before a glass case, Alistair studied various smiles. Most were obvious affectations, but he finally chose the one he would wear for now. The corners of his mouth raised in a slight lift, enough to suggest a mild sense of mirth without letting on how hollow he felt.

“There you are,” Cullen said, calling out to Lia to meet them. “Once Lia arrives, we’re to accompany you to the gallery.” Cullen’s brow creased. “What is it? Has something untoward occurred? You seem quite unlike yourself.”

“You’re half right,” Alistair couldn’t believe how easy the lie built as he spoke. “After today I will be nothing like myself. Thank you for the concern, my friend. Let’s get this over with.”

l-l-l

 

The Gallery hadn’t changed in hundreds of years.  Kings of Ferelden past had all stood in this room; many at the worst times of Ferelden’s history.  Those gathered listened as the Cousland’s recounted the attack in Highever; Alistair remained stoic and detached, nodding when Lisette and her mother concluded their speeches and acknowledged him.

The Proctor recounted the horrors of the Tower and how Alistair and his companions freed them all from certain destruction; the crowd silent absorbing every word.  Despite their nobility and stiff demeanor, those gathered laughed and clapped at Firand’s colorful recounting of his time traveling with Alistair declaring any who might stand against him would have to go through him first.

Alistair had expected opposition and argument, but found a determined acceptance to move forward with him in the Regent’s seat. The families of the Landsmeet requested the search for Maric continue for a period of five years, but if definitive proof of Maric Theirin’s death could be found, then Alistair would assume all responsibilities as Maric had wished before the time expired.

Meeting concluded, Alistair allowed himself to a few private moments of reflection before beginning the necessary public greetings and conversations with those who had so graciously supported him. 

The knock on the side room door announced the rest period had ended and Alistair replied.  “Right away!” He sighed. “You’d think as the bloody regent I could have more than a handful of minutes, but no. Time to be put on display.”

The door creaked as it opened, and Lia peeked in. “I heard that. You might consider a whisper or not thinking aloud.”  She winked through the half-opened door.

He laughed and Lia opened the door wide for Alistair to join her. “Pinch me if I do that in the Gallery, all right? Kick my foot, cough, do something so I don’t embarrass myself in there.”

“Relax, _Your Grace_ , if anyone gets in your face, I’ll take care of it.”

Walking through the halls of Denerim Castle, Alistair couldn’t help wonder if those who’d come before him ever felt the same nervousness that coursed through him nearing the Gallery’s main floor.  

The three approached the large entry doors. Alistair noted the unusual quiet. “We’re in the right place, aren’t we? I know I haven’t attended a reception in years, but aren’t they often quite loud?” Cullen and Lia exchanged a glance. Without a word, she left the two racing through a side door.

“She’ll circle around and enter from the rear of the Gallery,” Cullen said. “We’d studied the floor plan and practiced different scenarios,” Cullen said, “Eamon suggested we learn every entrance and exit.”

Alistair’s eyes widened as a thought took shape. “The quiet,” he said leaning his head against the door. Holding his breath, Alistair strained to discern any sounds from within the Gallery. “Cullen, we can’t wait. All those people!”

Heads turned, and all eyes focused on Alistair in varying states of alarm. Some of those closest to him gestured for him to leave. A single loud voice rang through the Gallery.

“At last!”  

Alistair didn’t need to see who spoke. In two short words, the disdain revealed Loghain held the Gallery in silence. Cullen tried to hold Alistair back, offering to face Mac Tir on his behalf, but Alistair refused. “No, he wouldn’t dare attack me here. Keep a sharp eye, my friend and remember; it is the people in this room you must protect first.”

Stepping free of the crowd along the periphery, Alistair faced Loghain unafraid.

“I see Eamon has not quite worked his talents on your manners. A valiant effort to be sure, but there are some wholly unsuited to walk in greater shoes. Pity. It appears that simply giving a bastard child a famous name and a bit of celebrity doesn’t a king produce.” He shook his head and took deliberate steps in Alistair’s direction. “There is but one solution to such mediocrity.” Loghain’s expression darkened, and he drew a large pistol. The barrel winked in the light, its cold metal pointed directly at Alistair.

A murmur moved through the room and several shouted for Loghain to drop his weapon.

Without losing his aim, he spoke only to Alistair. “How fitting to bring the Theirin bloodline to its end,” he paused, a wide grin and narrowed eyes fixed across the floor before he continued. “Now, boy. You will die with the very gift of friendship your father bestowed upon me. Maker take you!”

“You first!”  Alistair heard the cry behind Loghain, the ferocity of voice belonging to Lia. “Cullen! Now!” Confusion reigned as Alistair fell to the ground, and several shots exploded in the Gallery. Panic soon followed as screams and trampling footsteps cleared the room.

Only one thing rang true in the chaos. Somehow, Alistair still lived.


	27. The Sea's Gift of Brilliant Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair arrives in Llomerryn hoping for a bath and a rest while his mother's engineers work their magic on the Griffin, but a not so legal adventure gives him something more precious-hope.

Alistair woke to the bell announcing their arrival in Llomerryn. At first he grumbled at sleeping through the night, but he had no one to blame but himself. “Wearing yourself out with worry and ridiculousness is your fault; better to have rested before meeting with mother.”

“Mother,” he said aloud with a light laugh. “Surprisingly the least awkward of my three choices.” He couldn’t call her Dela aloud, for one thing it wasn’t his mother’s true name. Vanda? He didn’t know who Vanda was; Firand had shared plenty of stories, but none of them seemed to fit the person Alistair saw. She was not what he’d expected; his mother radiated such brilliance and determination, Alistair often wondered how he’d managed to exhibit neither quality.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he lamented the one thing his mother’s brilliance and innovative mind couldn’t provide. _A working bath on an airship_ , he thought. When word arrived from Llomerryn, the possibilities of what it might mean had set his imagination in motion, but without a hint of a reason, Alistair would have to wait. His mother’s insistence that Alistair bring the Griffin concerned him, but he figured she simply didn’t trust his engineers with Lisette’s new and improved Griffin.

The Griffin groaned as it neared the dock; Alistair understood it was the change in pressure from the high skies to the airship docks; the wood settled and adjusted to the humidity and warmer air above Llomerryn. When he was younger, Alistair pretended the airships complained when forced from their flight and the groan released echoed his disappointment whenever he had to disembark.  

He’d dressed in loose clothing, formality meant sweat and discomfort within minutes. Slung over his shoulder, Alistair had packed a few items in hopes his mother might let him use the steam baths while her engineers worked.  He covered the hummingbird’s cage with its dark velvet cloth, determined to keep her far from his mother’s tinkering. The hummingbird was a link to Lisette; one he refused to part with, regardless of the reason.

Lia and Cullen waited near the gang plank; Alistair averted his eyes as Lia kissed her husband before hopping over the railing and waving goodbye. Searching for a greeting that didn’t involve acknowledging what he’d tried not to see, Alistair nodded toward her departing form. “I’m not quite sure Llomerryn is ready for Lia.”

Cullen shook his head. “She’s off to meet Isabella; I’ll admit to keeping out of such discussions. This could very well be one of those times it’s best not to know.”

The two laughed and took to the winding paths. The island had changed when the skies cleared. Only a few select merchant families could afford the return to traditional shipping methods, steam powered ships weren’t easy to procure without funds and proper engineers. There were a few who tried to use the tall ships without engines, but the Waking Sea wasn’t always kind to ships.

“I can’t help but feel responsible in some way,” Alistair said.

“May I speak plain?”

Alistair stopped and faced Cullen. “I expect nothing less. What is it?”

“The report of a dragon above north of Highever, it wasn’t real was it?”

Alistair hushed Cullen and checked if they had an audience. Thankfully, the dock workers kept to themselves, and none even turned toward their conversation. He’d learned that years prior; everyone on Llomerryn had secrets. “It _was_ a dragon that destroyed that ship—in a way. The vessel carried weapons to one of Loghain’s known caches. Shayle was kind enough to lend her aid and thus began the rumor.”  

Wagging his finger, Cullen’s realization formed in a smile and a knowing nod. “Which you of course did nothing to dispel, choosing instead to ground Loghain’s fleet permanently through a ban of all unregistered ships.”

Alistair asked Cullen to follow him. “Any that refused to comply were helped to understand our position on smuggling through a visit from our not so friendly dragon.”

They reached his mother’s workshop and rang the bell, Cullen still quite intrigued by the story. “It was rather brilliant; who would wish to challenge a dragon?”

Metal railings rose into place; a metallic clank setting the safety bars to lock before the platform began its descent.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Alistair offered. “Shayle suggested it; although I must concede I suspected her appetite for such antics had little to do with Lohgain and far more to do with Shayle’s dislike of boredom.”  

The lift reached the ground flood with a loud clunk, and the doors opened. Dela waited, her hands rested on her waist, impatience tapping her fingers on her waistcoat. “It’s about time!”

The grin on Alistair’s face widened at his mother’s retort. “Lovely to see you too mother.”

“Pfft. We have a very different understanding of the word immediate, _my son_.” Turning on her heel, she beckoned the two to follow. “Alistair, I thought we’d settled on less formality between us. _Mother_ is more than a little formal.”

Alistair and Cullen hadn’t moved, and after several steps his mother turned around. “Well? I’m waiting.”

The two shrugged in unison and hurried to catch up to her. Cullen apologized. “Sorry, my lady.”

“Cullen, I swear by the Creators and the Maker so help me if you start with that _my lady_ nonsense I’ll freeze you to your smalls.”

Alistair hadn’t meant to laugh, his mother was clearly perturbed and he needed to find out why. “It’s my fault we’re late,” he said, moving closer and pulling his mother into a hug. “You’re looking well.” When she returned his hug and tightened her hold, he guessed all was forgiven, until she wriggled free.

“All that charm and cuteness is not going to work. I expected you hours ago!”

“Cuteness?” He gripped his chest in mock pain.  

She scoffed again. “You’re too old for me to drag you by an ear, so hurry it up.”

His mother talked in rapid sentences, jumping from one topic to the other, but the machinery around them drowned out most of what she said. Alistair sighed in relief reaching the lift to his mother’s private quarters.

“Mother—I mean Dela. You’ll need to repeat most of that, but first a bath?”

She slammed her palm on the call button and faced him. “A bath? Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

“Quite frankly, no.”

She gripped his arms, staring wide eyed up into his face. “I’ve gotten it to work! Don’t you understand? Lizzy is waiting to talk with you!”

He tried to speak and found his voice would not work; Alistair raised his hand patting his throat. _Lizzy. My Lisette._ He coughed.

Dela spoke to Cullen over her shoulder. “I think he heard that without issue.”

Cullen’s amused snort met Alistair’s narrowing glare. The lift doors opened and Dela pushed Alistair inside, instructing Cullen to wait and follow, he’d be met when he arrived upstairs. She grinned. “I have to see if I can help Alistair find his voice.” Cullen laughed again as the doors closed and the lift rose.

Once more Alistair coughed and cleared his throat. “She’s here? Lisette is really here?”

“No, she isn’t.” Dela led him to her office.  
  


“But you said. . .then. . .where?”

“Inside.” Dela’s rooms hadn’t changed; every inch covered in plans or gadgets in various states of construction or deconstruction, Alistair still couldn’t tell the difference.  One thing caught his attention. In the far corner, a large articulated wing rested against a bookcase, it spanned the length of one bookcase and reached the midpoint of the once next to it. Smooth black metal framing held a thin membrane stretched between the sections; even without knowing where the piece had originated, the familiarity reminded Alistair of Shayle’s body armor, but he dismissed the thought, eager to talk with Lisette.

“Well? Where is she?” He searched the room, swiveling his head, ready for her to appear.

Dela slid a light blue crystal toward him against the desktop. Confusion crossed his face, but she insisted, gesturing toward the crystal with a nod.  His attention shifted; the crystal sat near the edge of the desk, only slightly larger than an apple, he reached for it to study it closely. Faceted in an unnatural pattern, he guessed the pedestal shape and flattened top had been fashioned for a specific purpose.

“If you’ll place it on the desk, touch the top with your fingers or palm until the crystal glows. Its mate will pick up the activation and then you can talk with Lisette.”

"How?" He tried to wrap his head around it. Though, he couldn't fathom why he was surprised considering he had a clockwork hummingbird and somewhere in Thedas Lisette kept the company of a clockwork mabari. There were stranger things, he supposed. “Where did you find these crystals?”

“Where I found them hardly matters, what’s important is how you can use them. The crystals allow you to converse over great distances. I gave Lisette one of the pair in hopes I’d figure it out sooner.” 

“Great distances,” he repeated in a wistful tone, thinking on Lisette. For a moment he nearly forgot what sort of mischief Dela had coordinated to procure such wonders. “Mother, how exactly did you acquire the crystals and is it going to upset me?” 

She waved away his question, but his crossed arms and pointed stare coaxed a defeated sigh. “You really are getting into the whole regent role, aren’t you?” When Alistair didn’t react, she shrugged in response. “Let’s just say the pair of crystals and a few other things were retrieved off a freighter crossing the sea from Tevinter.”

Alistair’s raised brow and pursed lips expressed his displeasure. “The treaty with the north is weak at best and if you start lifting cargo?”

“I didn’t  _lift_  anything — it  _fell_  off a freighter into the water and one of my people saved it from drowning.”

“It fell off?” Alistair scoffed. “What a wondrous place Tevinter must be if crates can jump for their lives seeking asylum in the south.  I’m done listening to this,” he said with a sigh, covering his ears.

Pulling his hands down, she laughed. “All right, I won’t say anything else. But please, do as I ask. Touch the flat surface until the crystal glows.” She pushed him to sit on a chair and pointed at the crystal. “Do it. You’ll thank me later.”

She hurried to the door. “I’ll see to a meal and gather the others. Join us when you’re ready.”

“Mother wait!” He rose to follow.

“Sit. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” A gentle smile crossed her face before she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

The crystal seemed ordinary enough, something you might find in a shop if you looked hard enough. He sighed. “Well, why not?” He placed the crystal on the desktop, and rested his palm on the top. Nothing happened. He waited another minute and still nothing. “Um, hello? Is anyone there?” He waited again, and when the crystal remained dark, he spoke to the empty room. “If this is some elaborate joke, and Lizzy is hiding, I’m going to be rather cross—for about a second or two.”

A soft blue glow illuminated the desktop, the light growing stronger as he watched. Alistair didn’t know if he should take his hand away or leave it where it lay. “Hello?”

It took one word for his heart to thunder away in his chest. “Alistair?”

He sighed his response. “Lisette. It’s you.”

She started to laugh, and even through the strangeness of the situation, Alistair joined her.  The two continued both talking over one another several times until both sought to let the other speak first and silence took them.

Alistair broke the quiet.  “Are you. . .are you, all right?” 

“I’m fine, I guess, but it’s unimportant.”

The obvious change in her tone from excitement to dismissive indifference to his concern struck him as odd. “You’re important to me,” he said holding back the declaration of affection he’d wanted to share, settling on a simple affirmation. “I’ve never stopped caring for you.”

Her response came through muffled and the sounds emanating through the crystal sounded much the same.  Alistair called to Lisette several times without answer, but the crystal’s glow convinced him the connection was strong, but something or someone had interrupted. When the sound sharpened, he lifted the crystal to his ear. Unfamiliar voices seemed to answer one another with strange words amid the sounds of surf and a soft underlying breeze. _Where are you?_

At last, Lisette’s voice carried a little louder and more animated. “I had to move outside. But before I say more?  I’ve missed you more than I can express, and talking to you now, knowing when we’re through that you’re still days away hurts my heart.”

Her admission filled him with relief. He nearly blurted out his affections to her but held back. _You’re the Regent of Ferelden not some lovesick boy_ , his sensibilities warned, but Alistair didn’t care. “Would it upset you if I told you how much I’ve missed hearing your voice?”

She laughed. “Of course not.”

 

“Then allow me to say it again. How I’ve missed you, Lizzy.” He chuckled, and before Alistair could stop the flow of words, he continued. “It’s probably a good thing you can’t see me right now; here I am grinning every other moment like a fool and trying not to say anything horribly wrong, because when I forget myself and ramble on—as you know I can—I often stumble through the most embarrassing admissions. So, let me say this; if I let it slip that I love you, please don’t hold it against me.” Confidence building as he talked, Alistair continued. “Or, maybe you’d like that, to be held against me. Oh Maker, I don’t mean sex, I mean in like a hug or a kiss or other romantic things people tend to do when—you know what, I think I better stop now.”

Lisette’s laughter filled him with the joy he’d been missing for years since her departure. “You really are quite mad Alistair—wonderfully, brilliantly and absolutely mad. Promise me you’ll stay just as you are.”

“For you, my dear, always.”

Amid all the playful teases and promises, Alistair learned of his destination. Laysh, a city near the Volca Sea had been Lisette’s home for nearly twenty months.  “Head west, and when you think there is no end to the desert, keep going until you reach the western coast. There are no docks here; you’ll need to approach the city on foot. Tallo’s Eye is the closest airship dock. Make sure you have gold to purchase a mount, do not attempt to cross otherwise.” The sudden serious shift renewed Alistair’s concern.

“Are you safe?”

“I should return,” she said her voice almost wistful. “Promise me we’ll speak again tomorrow. Until you arrive, I will wait for you at nine in the morning and in the evening hour.”

“Both day and night?” It was surprise that answered her, not reticence.

“That’s too much,” she said, quickly chastising her request aloud, “of course it is, whichever is easier for you. I could use the distraction, if I’m to be honest.”

“Distraction? What’s going on Lizzy?”

“Nothing. I’m. . .I’m just tired. Hearing from you chases it away, that’s all.”  

He could have argued, but instead his growing sense of confidence in her feelings toward him allowed him a teasing answer. “In that case, perhaps we should speak every hour on the hour, but you may grow tired of my voice.”

Lissette sighed through her answer, “never.”   

With promises made and well wishes delivered, Alistair and Lisette reluctantly ended their conversation.

 

l-l-l

 

Alistair’s stomach complained louder with each step toward the great room. Despite the laughter carrying through the corridor and the promise of a good meal, he stopped several times contemplating his conversation with Lisette.

He wondered if Lisette sounded odd because of the crystal or if there was more she hadn’t shared. It was possible Alistair had harbored so many expectations surrounding Lisette that the dissatisfaction he felt was of his own making and not what was or was not said between them.   _What more is there? Zee and Morrigan are with her, it’s not as if she ran off._

He paused just outside the door, as another round of laughter and applause promised an enjoyable evening with friends. Alistair’s hand hovered over the door handle. “Oh, enough already,” he whispered. “Tomorrow you’ll be on your way.” With a final admonishment, Alistair opened the door.

For all of his mother’s creations and fascination with innovation, she possessed an almost archaic attachment to firelight. Torches bathed the periphery in a warm burnt orange glow, while a large firepit sat at either end of the long hall, snapping embers into the air above.

Candles melted in various heights along the enormous table; despite the gathering at only one end. Contented, he started to smile at the sight until Zee leapt to his chair with arms outstretched. _If he’s here, what about Lisette?_ Alistair set aside his momentary happiness as his neck and jaw tightened.

“. . . it is no lie, I assure you. There we are—somewhere over a mountainous range, although I have little recollection as to which it was.”

Cullen interrupted, asking his question without acknowledgement. “Was it snow covered or desert?”

Zee shrugged in response. “I couldn’t say. I leave such details to those who fly; my talents do not require an understanding of where we are or where we might be going."  

Lia slammed her mug to the table, nearly toppling it in her zeal. “What kind of a pirate has no sense of direction?”

Dela noticed Alistair’s arrival and tossed a wink in his direction before responding. “My nephew.”  The crescendo of laughter from those at the table drowned out the rest of Dela’s words, but quick strides and an outstretched hand accompanied a widening smile.

Warmth filled Alistair thanks to Dela’s attention. “Thank you Mother.” He was grateful for the chance to talk with Lisette, but wasn’t quite ready to share the news with the group.

Giving him a side hug, she quieted her voice. “Did you speak?”

Alistair nodded, guiding her toward the table. “Yes, we’ll leave for Laysh at first light.”

“Good. I’m coming with you, and before you think to argue I’m pulling rank. Regent or no, I am your mother.”  

“So the formality of mother is acceptable now?” He wasn’t about to argue with Dela in front of others; Alistair admired his mother’s tenacity.  “So mother outranks regent? Eamon must have left out that bit of information in his lessons.”

“It is an unspoken law, not one Eamon would think to impart.” Slowing with each step, Dela halted their approach, turning to face him. “I know of no other way to say this without causing you pain. Lisette is lying, I am almost certain of it. In all the years I have known her, Lizzy has never been evasive and vague and yet, her careful way of speaking and latching on to anything other than describing why she remained in Laysh concerns me. She wouldn’t lie to me; there must be a reason for this change.”  

Lisette was more reserved than he remembered, off even if he chose to admit it. “She sent Zee away? Did he say why?”

“To deliver the letter, the one I sent to you. It made little sense at the time; the three had worked together on their journey. When the party arrived in Laysh, they’d only been apart for a day or two when she insisted Zee and Morrigan return to me and deliver a letter to you. That was two years ago. I wish I had figured out the crystal’s secret sooner, but I can’t help but wonder what happened.”

Doubt and unease furrowed his brow. A deep frown creased Alistair’s face even more. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” It wasn’t Dela’s fault; she had the presence of mind to share her concerns, but if they were true? Lisette’s deception would chase away all hope of a happy reunion.


	28. Arriving Somewhere But Not Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisette waits in Laysh; something troubles Alistair and he turns to Zee for help but finds no answers. A late night stroll, a last minute save and an old friend with new tricks round out one strange night.

The candles had flattened into white pools of wax on the table, but still Alistair refused to concede. “Zee. You had to have seen something; go through it again. What happened in Laysh?”

Sitting with his head lolling back on the chair, Zee sighed before fixing his stare on Alistair. “My dear cousin, I swear I know nothing. I would not lie to you.” A single raised brow from Alistair questioned Zee’s claim. “All right, I would not lie to you about Lisette. I can see you are hurting. She said nothing. Nothing. I swear on the blood of my family.”

“Tell it to me again, and leave nothing out.” Another longer sigh and near roll of Zee’s eyes threatened to ignite Alistair’s anger, but he exhaled before continuing. “You’ve missed something.”

“You expect this time to reveal some great secret as opposed by the five previous explanations? I have left nothing out of my recollection. I fear you assume a great deal and it eats away at you. This cannot be good for you cousin. You either trust Lisette or you do not. There is nothing more I can offer.” He stood. “Now, unless there is something else you wish to discuss, I must return to my room and rest.”

Resigned, Alistair apologized. “You’re right and I’ve been unreasonable.”

“No. You have not been unreasonable. You seek the truth about the woman you love. In Antiva, men have died at the point of a blade for less.” He clasped Alistair’s shoulder. “I see the same determination in you, cousin.” He nodded. “She sees no other; do not allow the doubts of time and uncertainty to cloud what you know to be true.”

“Thanks, Zee. I needed to hear that.”

He shrugged in response. “Well, she refused me at every turn, what more must I conclude? The poor lady is either delirious or in love,” he said with a wink. “Trust me, love is never easy. Nothing in the world carries as much joy as it does pain, but you take one knowing the other may come at any moment, no?” He turned to go and then stopped, speaking over his shoulder. “Lisette loves only you, my friend. As to what holds her from returning, I cannot say. Patience. Faith. All will be as it should.” Zee left with a halfhearted wave.

 _Patience_ , he says. _I’ve been more than patient_. Alistair stretched his neck and tried to muster the will to rest but couldn’t. “All right, I need air. It’s late enough.”  For a moment he considered disturbing Cullen or Lia to accompany him but decided against it. He thought even the more questionable influences in Llomerryn had to sleep at some point.

l-l-l

Alistair picked up a shadow the moment he left his mother’s workshop. Self-preservation dictated carrying a dagger snapped on his belt to provide some defense, if necessary. He could navigate the bridges and pathways easily enough in the dark. The larger of the two moons sat in her dark phase and with the high rising structures, the lack of light likely emboldened the unscrupulous.

Quickening his pace would do little; his shadow no doubt had associates nearby waiting for Alistair to run. He held back the sigh building in his lungs. _Yes, this was stupid and you can bet Cullen will have quite the lecture prepared._ Alistair learned to at least listen to Cullen’s endless warnings when it pertained to his safety in public. _Venturing anywhere without an escort invites danger, Your Grace._ He’d lost count of how many times Cullen had tried to convince Alistair he would remain a target for the foreseeable future.

Alistair’s eyes swept the area. He could attempt a leap toward the inner tract and hope to catch one of the lifelines, but then again, doing so presented a larger problem. The metal structures weren’t constructed for climbing, and he could only travel up, making him a larger target.   _If I miss, the fall would be a little messy._

Running would call more attention to his presence; the wooden planks of the connecting bridges amplified hurried steps. Without options, Alistair continued as if he didn’t know the danger lurking behind him and likely waiting further along the path. _Get to the docks. The crew is on board and likely the watch will see me once I clear the stacks._

The walkways rose in a circular path leading Alistair toward the airship docks.  As he neared the area, two figures blocked the path ahead; he could see they were of near equal height, although a fair bit more menacing. _Here we go_ , he thought and waited for his shadow to make a move. Alistair didn’t have long to wait. The deep voice behind him, unfamiliar and mocking called out to him. 

“Nice night for a stroll, eh?”

One, he could fight or perhaps two? Maybe if they waited patiently he’d have a chance, but three? If he made any amount of noise and alerted a friendly face or good-natured citizen, he might escape. The location of their ambush presented a larger problem. The platform to his left offered no egress, boxing him in. He could rush the two ahead, but to what end? The man behind him might be overcome, or even pushed toward the pathway edge, but Alistair would put himself at risk as well. Out of agreeable options, he decided to try something different, turning to face his attacker. “Hello! Was that a question?”

“What?”

With an annoyed sigh, Alistair slowed his speech, but raised the volume of his voice. “I said. . .was that. . .a question.” He hoped the ridiculous nature of his confrontation might confuse the ringleader, or at least delay whatever they had planned for him.

“What’re you on about?”

Using large sweeping gestures, Alistair sought to distract the man further while releasing the belt clasp holding his dagger; he would wait before arming himself.  “I’m afraid you’re not making sense, my good man. I couldn’t say if it is a nice night for strolling or not, perhaps if you elaborate on what makes a _nice_ night, I might have enough information to answer.”

It didn’t take long for Alistair to notice he’d not only failed to distract the three men, but the darkening grin on the man closest to him raised a lump to Alistair’s throat. _That worked brilliantly_ , he thought. _Now what_?

Facing the imminent threat, Alistair’s slow reach sought his dagger. He listened to the approaching steps of the two men, but the futility of taking on both turned his attention to the lone man.  

Several feet behind the leader, Alistair was near certain he saw movement, but dismissed it as a trick of his mind. His skin prickled in anticipation of the fight to come, hand slowly closing around the dagger’s hilt. Movement in the shadow caught his attention once again, and the concern of even more men soured his confidence. He wondered if one final distraction would aid him, calling to a non-existent ally. “I thought you’d forgotten about me!”

“Nice try.” The leader laughed low and throaty smacking his fist into his open palm.

Night winds pushed through the settlement carrying the thick floral scent of Andraste’s grace on the air. A strange and familiar odor for Lia wore a similar scent. Alistair found it cloying, never quite understanding why she felt the need to perfume herself at all. The flowering shrub did not grow along the bay, and Alistair hoped the scented air implied that once more Lia had his back.  “I’d say it’s about time, but I’ll accept full blame.”

“Who’re you talking to?” The man’s indignation was enough to call Alistair’s bluff. “There’s no one there.”

A sudden jerk forward and wide eyes accentuated the man’s surprise as he yelped in pain, grabbing his leg as he fell, revealing Lia standing behind him.  “Think again,” she said.

Cursing loudly, the once smug expression contorted into a twisted mask of pain. “My knee! I can’t stand!”   

Lia met Alistair’s relieved gaze and shrugged. “It’s broken most likely. Sorry about that.”

A renewed round of curses flew along with spittle and anger. “Sorry! You stupid—”

The man gurgled as Lia’s hold on the man’s neck cut his speech. “Is that,” she applied the hold again, eliciting a grunt, “any way to speak to a lady? I think not.” Without glancing up, Lia called out in a loud voice. “What about the other two?”

Alistair shifted hiding his smile at the sight of Isabella standing to the right of the other two with their hands raised. In each hand she gripped a gun unlike any he’d ever seen. The guns had three barrels one next to the other. Unable to find anything other than humor, he asked, “a little excessive perhaps? It looks like either of those could split a man in two.”

“You know the old adage, right?” Her confidence carried in her stance, Isabella spoke with an expected bravado. “Go big or go home. Isn’t that right boys?” When neither answered her, she laughed. “All right, _Your Grace_ , off you go.”  

He nodded, thanking her silently for the respect and the rescue before facing Lia once again.

“Lia, I can’t really tell in this low light, but I think he’s turning blue. I believe our friend sees the error of his ways.”

“Perhaps. Cullen waits for you at the entrance to Dela’s. I’ll report in later.” She paused. “Oh, if it’s not too much of an imposition? It best not to mention how this went down. Cullen tends to worry I overreact.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Alistair said with a wink.

l-l-l

Childhood is filled with mistakes, lessons and promises. Alistair had experienced his share of mischief and consequence growing up, but in all that time, he’d never seen the full wrath of his mother—until now.

He shifted in the chair, uncomfortable from more than just the hardwood seat. Dela’s frustration spilled out with every word. “You risked _everything_!”

“Mother, please. I’m all right.”

Her head shook once and then she held his eyes in such a fierce glare, Alistair cringed. “You’re. . .you’re all right?” She twisted only a little, her hands and body carrying on with the argument silently as if she held back for his sake.

“If you’ve something to say, I’m ready to listen. I know I was wrong, and I am grateful for Lia and Isabella’s aid.”

A raised hand silenced Alistair. “Listen to me carefully. You, Alistair Calenhad Theirin cannot afford,” her voice grew louder and more deliberate with every spoken word, “to wander around without a _fucking escort_!”

He paled. Speaking now would unleash an even greater fury and Alistair kept silent, likening his mother’s wrath to waking a sleeping giant.  Her sigh grew longer than Alistair thought possible, but Dela’s purposeful avoidance and inability to look at him hurt far more than he expected. An apology would be hollow and offer no solace, leaving him with one course of action; he decided it best to leave her and return to his room. Dela said nothing as he crossed the floor. Soft and quiet, that was his goal. If he could somehow leave without adding to the tension between them, then Alistair would make it right before departing in the morning. Disappointment and judgement hung heavy in the air.

“Wait.” Her energy had diminished along with her quieted voice and she joined him at the door, her gentle hand on his arm surprising.

 “Alistair, I had no right. None. What kind of mother have I been? You succeed because of who _you_ are, in spite of Maric and me.  Promise me you’ll be cautious. Promise me you’ll look to your companions.”

“Then you’ve changed your mind? You won’t travel with me to Laysh?” No matter what had transpired his mother was right. He’d acted foolishly and could have been gravely injured or worse. “I am,” he searched for the words. “I am concerned. . .what if. . .if she.” He exhaled. “Am I doing the right thing? This whole journey could be based on a lie I’ve told myself for five years.”

“Come with me.”

At first, Alistair could barely keep up with Dela as she led him through corridors and rooms he’d never seen. “Where are we going?”

“One of my workshops. Whatever you do, don’t laugh. Size is an invalid determiner of strength.”

  _I can see that_ , he thought considering his mother for a moment before hurrying to keep pace.

Lights gave way to torches and braziers the further they ventured. The air had cooled considerably and the stone walls glistened; the source of the dampness unknown. Reaching out to run his fingertips along the stone, he pulled back his wet fingers, rubbing them together. He sniffed in hopes the substance might be only water. With Dela, it could be anything. Tentatively, Alistair touched a single finger to his tongue. A bitter taste of salt lingered for a moment. “Are we under the island?”

“More or less,” she replied. “It’s not much farther.”

“Hold on, how is this safe?” the idea they walked through a near dark tunnel lit by fire and the bay or sea water seeping through the stones troubled him.

“Because it is.”

Dela’s unwillingness to share more should have stopped him, but curiosity won. “You don’t keep a sea creature or other monster type down here,” he laughed with a hint of nerves. “Not that I’m afraid, but a little warning would be nice.”

The torches along the walls diminished until they reached a point flanked by two large fire pits. The hairs on Alistair’s arms and neck bristled, sending a shiver through him.   

“This is a place of old magic. I learned of its existence when you were young. We needed a place to hide her.”

His eyes widened and Alistair stepped back, moving away from Dela. “Hide who?”

_You really haven’t grown any smarter. Older, most definitely. Shame. I’d hoped you be more interesting._

“Shayle?” Alistair hesitated, advancing slowly.

_Is it really so difficult to grasp?_

“But how? Shayle’s dragon form could never fit through the passage way.”

_A bolt of lightning exploded out of the shadow. If you do not wish to be squashed, kindly refrain from commenting on my size._

Shayle had only used fire before, a combination of mechanics and alchemy. “Forgive me,” he offered in a loud voice, “I meant no offense. The lightning was. . .impressive.” He hoped the compliment might smooth over his earlier mistake.

_Thank you. It’s the change in body. This form generates a charge, and yes, it is rather impressive._

“This. . .this form?” His brow furrowed, Alistair tried to understand. “What’s going on?”

_Your mother is an unparalleled genius. I will join you shortly and I shall show you._

“Unparalleled genius? Shayle actually paid someone a compliment?” Alistair expected a smile, a laugh, or some other response from Dela, but instead she looked away. “We never finished our conversation, did we?”

“No.”

He didn’t want a divide between them. “You were right. You _are_ right. I took an unnecessary risk without considering the consequence. The mistake and fault is all mine.” He shifted in front of her and tried to catch her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She pressed her lips together and scoffed but pointed toward the darkness. “There’s something I should tell you. Shayle is a little different than you remember. Remember what I said about size and strength.”

A golden yellow blur burst into the passageway, it twisted and turned in flight with such speed and agility, Alistair guessed it to be a construct of a sort. “Shayle?”

At the mention of her name, the chaotic flight of the creature ended revealing a dragon twice the size of Morrigan’s construct, Mother.  Golden eyes gleamed and stared into Alistair’s, but tiny sparks moving toward the black pupil pulled him closer in wonder. “But how?” The hulking construct body that had housed Shayle’s heart had shrunk.

“Something we found in the crates from Tevinter. Crystals imbued with elemental magic,” Dela held out her arm, and like a tame animal she rested on the offered perch, her talons unclenched so as not to injure. “There are four bodies and Shayle requires aid to change form, but once moved, she is so much more than a construct. Fire, lightning, ice and earth—all the elements of life are there for her use. The earth crystals built into the form even have healing properties. Shayle has perfected the use of the magic in each case and the alchemical component is no longer necessary.”

The invitation to join his crew fell without hesitation, and Shayle accepted, but his mother had implied something far greater earlier and Alistair grew impatient. “As grateful as I am, what has this to do with Lisette?”

_I carry a message from the lady._

“A message?”

Dela offered a few excuses before leaving. “Shayle knows the way, she will lead you out of the passage.”

“You don’t have to leave, Mother.”

She waved over her shoulder but did not stop. “I’m still going with you. You’re too old for hand holding, but something tells me you’re going to need my help. I’ll see you at the docks. I leave him in your care, Shayle. If anyone so much as breathes on my son, you know to do.”

Waiting for Shayle, Alistair wondered why Lisette didn’t say more when they spoke through the crystals. “What is the message?”

_I found the Anvil and a friend. Tell no one._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts!


End file.
